


SwapTales

by undying_lilies



Series: the SwapTales Universe [1]
Category: DuckTales (Cartoon 2017)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Character Swap, Angst, Found Family, Gen, a different take on your average swap AU, honestly I'm not sure how this turned into a whole big thing but I love it all the same, main character Webby, slight spoilers for season three plots, swap au, takes place after Confidental Casefiles of Agent 22, wholesome family fluff
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-11-13
Updated: 2021-02-17
Packaged: 2021-03-09 02:00:43
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 24,205
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27166262
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/undying_lilies/pseuds/undying_lilies
Summary: Things turn upside-down for Webby when she finds herself in a universe where everyone and everything has been switched. The triplets don't live at the mansion, Della isn't the one missing (Donald is), and Scrooge is that selfish old miser again - and that's just the beginning of it. Lost and confused and maybe a little frightened, Webby's determined to face this new and strange universe and bring her family back together.
Relationships: Dewey Duck & Huey Duck & Louie Duck & Webby Vanderquack, Webby & everyone else, Webby Vanderquack & Mrs. Beakley, Webby Vanderquack & Scrooge McDuck
Series: the SwapTales Universe [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2151432
Comments: 70
Kudos: 97





	1. Prequel

**Author's Note:**

> Swap AUs are my jam, guys. (honestly any good AUs are my jam.) So, naturally, I had to make a swap AU for the reboot DuckTales, and at first it was this tiny small AU but over the past couple months it's grown a LOT! So now I present to you: the fabulous world of SwapTales!
> 
> I love this AU so so much, and I hope you'll like it, too!!

As soon as Webby woke up that morning, she knew something was wrong.

At first, she didn’t quite know exactly what _was_ wrong. Maybe it was one of those get-dressed-before-breakfast days where her conscience told her that she’d be going on an adventure today.

But as Webby stood in front of her mirror, fully dressed just minutes later, something still didn’t seem right.

Maybe, she thought, it was because she didn’t have her bow in. Maybe her hair was too unkempt for her liking. Maybe she really wanted her bed to be clean.

But, half an hour later, Webby had done all of those things, and none of them had ceased the nagging feeling inside of her that something was wrong.

Webby admitted defeat in her head. Maybe she was just not fully awake yet, like the triplets sometimes were. Maybe that was it - maybe she needed a nice, cold cup of juice to wake her up.

That was an awful lot of maybes, she remarked.

She looked around at her awfully neat bedroom for eight o’clock on a . . . what day was it? . . . on a Saturday morning, and then she opened the door to her bedroom and stepped into the hallway.

And then it hit her with a bang.

All at once, she knew what was off - she knew what had been nagging at her for a full half hour straight.

She knew what had made her jump out of bed and fix her bedroom first thing instead of eating breakfast in her pajamas.

It was quiet.

Dewey wasn’t singing at the top of his lungs while sliding down the stair railings. Louie was not watching _Ottoman Empire_ in his favorite living room, the one closest to Webby’s room. And there was no Huey reciting rules from his trusted Junior Woodchuck Guidebook, making a long-winded speech and telling his brother to get up off his lazy butt and would you stop singing, Dewey, because you’re not in the shower anymore and it’s high time to eat breakfast.

No. It was completely, utterly, and horribly quiet.

And it was very off.

Even more confused and possibly even a little frightened, Webby quickly hurried down the stairs that led into the front hall and the foyer. _Maybe_ , she started to tell herself, _maybe Scrooge and the triplets are already at the Money Bin._ Yes, that had to be it.

And then she stopped on her tracks.

She paused, took a step back, and turned around.

Was that - was _Launchpad_ dusting the fireplace mantle?

Was that really Launchpad? His hair had been slicked back and he wore black glasses and a suit and he even had on an _apron_ , just like Webby’s granny did. And - and he was dusting off the fireplace, something that Launchpad would never _ever_ do.

Launchpad noticed her and nodded at her. “Good morning, Webby,” he said, his voice unusually calm and straight.

Webby blinked.

“Are you alright?” Launchpad looked concerned. “You seem confused.”

Then, without so much as a _hello_ or a _what?_ or even a _goodbye_ , Webby ran as fast as she could to the kitchen. She had to find her granny. She _needed_ to find her granny.

But the kitchen was empty and clean, albeit the delicious smells wafting up from the stove and a new fold-up table in the back.

So then where was her granny?

Webby raced back into the foyer. Launchpad had moved on to tending to the fire instead of dusting the fireplace’s mantle.

She opened her mouth, but the front door banged open with a _SLAM_ and then suddenly there was her granny, all right, but -

Her granny wasn’t wearing glasses.

Or an apron.

Or her hair even in a bun.

Her hair was hidden under a cap with goggles on top, her eyes looked dangerous and wild, and she was wearing clothes that Launchpad would normally wear - a giant, oversized brown coat and cargo pants and black boots and no apron.

Webby looked from her granny to Launchpad and back again several times.

“What a rush!” Mrs. Beakley shouted, jumping into the foyer. “Nothing like an early morning crash - oh, Webby dear! Woke up just in time for breakfast.” After a second, she added, “You looked very stunned.”

Webby’s jaw had dropped and she did indeed look rather stunned. What had _happened_ to her granny and Launchpad? Were they pulling a prank? Was Louie in on this?

“What’s going on?” she finally said.

“What’s -” Launchpad paused. “I suppose being stuck in here yesterday might’ve been exhausting. Maybe breakfast would help.”

“She hasn’t been out for a whole day, LP.” Mrs. Beakley grinned. “Cut her some slack.”

“Breakfast?” Webby repeated. “Stuck? In here? For a whole day?” And since when did her granny use the word _slack?_

“Breakfast sounds excellent!” Mrs. Beakley rubbed her hands. “What’s for breakfast?”

Before Launchpad could reply, Webby had zoomed down the hall again, but in the opposite direction of the dining hall. She had no interest in eating; she had to go find Scrooge.

~

Webby skidded to a stop before the door to Scrooge’s study and nearly kicked the door down. She had no idea if Scrooge was even _in_ his study - he was probably at the Money Bin with the triplets, so she expected an empty room, but that idea was quickly shattered to pieces when she nudged the door open with her foot; there sat Scrooge, hunched over at his desk, muttering to himself and occasionally writing things down on a notepad.

He didn’t even glance up at her. “Good morning, Webbigail.”

_Webbigail?_ Webby waved her full name away and ran up to the desk. “Uncle Scrooge -” she began.

This time Scrooge _did_ glance at her, and he raised an eyebrow. “Uncle?” he repeated. “Don’t be daft, lass, I’m not your uncle.”

The rest of Webby’s sentence faded away, and her eyes grew wide.

“But -” She hesitated. “But yesterday -”

“Yes, yesterday.” Scrooge waved that away. “Did you need something?”

“Something - yes, I need something.” Blinking her wide eyes, Webby forced a nod and did her best to keep her hands steady. “Where - where are the triplets?”

“Haven’t the faintest idea who you’re talking about.” Scrooge had gone back to writing things down.

Now Webby’s jaw dropped.

“Your -” She hadn’t expected that answer at all. “Your _nephews_ -”

Scrooge paused and looked at her again.

Then he got up and started to push Webby out the door. “That’s enough for today, lass,” he said firmly.

“But -” Webby couldn’t help but be shoved out of the study. “But but but -”

_“Good day.”_ And then the study door slammed shut.

Webby stared at the now-closed door. This had to be an elaborate prank - it just _had_ to be. The triplets were probably hiding somewhere - maybe in the pantry or the houseboat - muffling their laughter as they thought of what was happening.

Webby walked down the hall and back into the foyer, her heart sinking. Launchpad and Mrs. Beakley seemed to be in the middle of a conversation but paused when they saw Webby.

“Did you visit Mr. McDuck?” Launchpad asked. “You should know he doesn’t like to talk before having his nutmeg tea.”

Webby couldn’t remember the last time Scrooge had actually been like that - it must’ve been before the triplets came. That had been months ago. “I’m going to find the triplets,” she said slowly, and she turned to the stairs.

“Triplets?” Launchpad repeated, but Webby hurried up the stairs and ignored him. She’d find the boys, she would - they were in their room, probably with the “Dewey Dew-night” set still up and their bedroom a mess -

But when Webby opened the door to what was _supposed_ to be the triplets’ bedroom, she wasn’t prepared to face a completely empty room - no Dewey Dew-night set, no triple-bunk-bed, nothing at all except for a sheer inch or two of dust that covered everything. The dresser was still in there, but there was nothing inside its drawers except for a friendly spider weaving a web.

“Guys?” Webby called, her voice echoing. “Hello?”

Silence.

“If this is a prank, it’s gone too far.”

Nothing.

Webby wasn’t sure what to do. Where was everyone? Come to think of it, where was Donald? She hadn’t heard him yell about something the boys had probably broken by now.

Maybe they were in the houseboat, she thought. But when she moved to the window in the room, the pool in front of the mansion was houseboat-free.

She walked back down to the foyer rather stunned.

“Poor dear,” Mrs. Beakley sympathesized once her granddaughter had stopped by the fireplace with wide eyes. “Breakfast will do you good.” Then she leaned closer to Webby and whispered, “Maybe we’ll stop by the houseboat today - sneak out and all. You seem worried about the triplets.”

_The houseboat?_ Webby looked up at her granny in surprise, and then she nodded eagerly. Her granny had to be in on the prank, she thought, as she followed Mrs. Beakley and Launchpad into the kitchen and not the dining room.

But Webby wasn’t very hungry, as she quickly found out. All three were seated at the table in the kitchen, and it strongly reminded Webby of the days before the triplets had arrived. With her head resting on her hand, she stabbed a pancake with her fork.

“Mrs. Beakley, I have an errand for you to run,” Launchpad said, sitting down at the table. “Mr. McDuck wanted to know how Dr. Crackshell’s suit is coming along.”

This made Webby pause. Who on earth was Dr. Crackshell?

“Webby and I wanted to get out of the house, anyway,” Mrs. Beakley said cheerfully. “We’ll stop by the lab first.”

Webby still had her head in her hand, and she stared at her fork with much thought that wasn’t on the fork at all. Maybe the triplets were at the lab with Gyro and Fenton and . . . whoever Dr. Crackshell was. Maybe Donald had taken the triplets and the houseboat out for fishing or something.

After Webby and Mrs. Beakley had finished their breakfast, they got into the van that the crew sometimes took on adventures. Webby buckled up in the passenger seat besides her granny, and she leaned back, trying to relax.

But she didn’t remember when her granny had become . . . less of a _driver_.

Webby found herself holding onto her seatbelt for dear life. Mrs. Beakley nearly crashed into several lampposts and fire hydrants and even almost ran two red lights if it wasn’t for Webby’s screech for her to stop and slow down. So when the van reached the Money Bin, Webby was understandably the first one of the two to bolt out of the van and thank her lucky stars she was on the ground now.

Mrs. Beakley seemed unaware of her granddaughter’s relief that she was out of the van as the two walked inside the office and as they took the elevator to the underwater lab.

Webby was silent in the elevator, willing for the triplets to be in the lab. _Oh please oh please oh please,_ she wished.

“You’re quiet today,” Mrs. Beakley remarked, breaking the silence. “Did you get enough sleep? I know we got back late last night, but -”

Webby nodded. “I’m okay,” she said in a small voice. She just really wanted to see the triplets again and assure herself that this was one giant, elaborate prank.

The elevator doors slid open, and, as usual, Gyro was chasing a runaway invention around his lab. Both Mrs. B and Webby were unfazed, but Webby noted this with a sigh of relief - it looked like maybe this was all a prank.

But when Gyro had finally caught whatever was running away - it had been Lil Bulb, on further inspection - Webby realized that Gyro was off, too.

“Mrs. Beakley!” Gyro grinned. “What brings you to the lab today?”

“We’re here to get a report on the suit for Mr. McD,” Mrs. Beakely said. “And I brought Webby with me.”

Webby blinked at Gyro. He looked so . . . _un_ -neat. His shirt was untucked, he wasn’t wearing his vest, there was a tie fastened under the collar of his shirt - he seemed so _happy_ and not at all stern.

“Of course! Let me go get Dr. Crackshell.” And Gyro quickly turned around and hurried up the stairs to the balcony in the middle of the room.

Webby glanced around - no triplets. Huh. If anything she would’ve thought that Huey had to be in here, maybe to complete a Junior Woodchuck badge, but there was no sign of the red-wearing duck - or, come to think of it, this Dr. Crackshell everyone kept talking about.

Then Gyro appeared again, and he gestured up the stairs to the mountain-balcony-thing in the middle of the room. Mrs. Beakley and Webby followed him up the stairs, where Webby saw yet another surprising thing that day - there was Fenton, dressed almost like Gyro usually was - high-collared shirt, brown vest, purple bowtie.

The first thought that came to Webby’s mind was that Fenton’s color scheme reminded her forcefully of a banana.

But then that thought was quickly banished from her mind when she realized that there was a giant robotic suit standing on the balcony.

Webby’s eyes widened even more at the sight of it.

“Report for Mr. McD,” Mrs. Beakley said. “On the Gizmoduck suit.” She gestured to the suit.

“Of course,” Fenton said. Webby had to blink several times - he sounded so composed. But then he turned to Gyro and gave Lil Bulb a surprisingly stern look.

“Oh - right,” Gyro said hastily, shoving Lil Bulb behind his back.

Fenton faced Mrs. Beakley and Webby again and started to talk. “Nice of you two to visit,” he said placidly. “The new Gizmoduck suit is better improved than its last - disastrous - attempt to save the civilians of Duckburg. I’ve made some improvements and rewired a few things as well.”

Mrs. Beakley nodded thoughtfully.

“Intern, you better be writing this down,” Fenton said sharply to Gyro.

“Of course, Dr. Crackshell,” Gyro said hurriedly, quickly grabbing a notepad and pen and starting to scribble things down.

And then suddenly everything clicked in Webby’s mind.

Fenton was Dr. Crackshell . . . and - and that meant that Gyro was _Fenton’s_ intern, not the other way around - but wasn’t Fenton supposed to be _Gyro’s_ intern?

She barely heard the rest of the report - Fenton was Dr. Crackshell. Gyro was Fenton’s intern. Gyro looked so casual and Fenton looked so neat.

When the report was finished, she left the lab in a daze.

~

They were back in the van moments later with the slip of paper that Gyro had been writing on. Webby just stared out of the car window, clutching her seatbelt again - what was going on? Everyone she had met so far had acted weird and crazy and not at all like themselves.

The triplets would know how to fix this, she told herself. Or they would assure her it was an elaborate prank or it was National Switcheroo Day or something and Webby just didn’t know.

But she was slowly convinced that National Switcheroo Day was very much not a thing, because the triplets would’ve gone on and on about it and then try to make it a giant prank

Okay, so maybe it _was_ very much a thing and she was just wrong about everything she had theorized so far.

The van pulled into the parking lot of a dock - very clumsily and almost crashing into the plants - and Webby jumped out of the car immediately, searching her line of vision for the houseboat. Where, oh _where_ was the houseboat?

“Looks like they moved the houseboat again,” Mrs. Beakley remarked, standing next to Webby.

“Again?” Webby said before she could stop herself.

“They move it nearly every week!” Mrs. Beakley laughed. “Let’s go find it.”

And so Webby and Mrs. Beakley walked up and down the dock, trying to find the all-too-familiar houseboat. They eventually found it ten very long minutes later, sitting beside a railing that led right into the houseboat, but either Webby hadn’t been to this particular spot before or the houseboat seemed off at this location, too. No one was running around the house in the boat, but she could certainly hear noises coming from inside.

Webby and Mrs. Beakley climbed into the boat and walked up to the front door, where Mrs. Beakley knocked on the door.

“Hello?” Mrs. Beakley called. “It’s Mrs. B and Webby!”

Webby clasped her hands together and swayed back and forth on her heels. _C’mon, guys,_ she wished. _Open the door -_

And then the door did open, as if on cue, but who had opened the door was someone Webby would’ve never guessed in a million years.

Donald hadn’t opened the door.

_Della Duck_ had.

Webby’s jaw moved up and down, her eyes so wide she felt like she was straining them and would have spots in her vision if she didn’t stop soon enough.

“Oh, Webby and Mrs. B!” Della - Della Duck, _the_ Della Duck - shifted her weight from one leg to the other. “What brings you here today?”

Webby tried to speak but she couldn’t.

“Webby was worried about the triplets,” Mrs. Beakley said cheerfully.

Della paused, and then she cracked a smile. “How thoughtful, come -”

“DELLA!” Webby finally burst out.

Della raised an eyebrow.

“You’re - how - get here - where were - where’s -” Webby’s sentences came out jumbled on a string, making no incoherent sense as her eyes bugged out even more.

Suddenly Huey was at the door, and he grinned. “Oh, hey Webby, Mrs. B!”

“But - Donald - what about -” Webby babbled.

And then the mood changed; Della’s expression hardened, Mrs. Beakley looked alarmed, and Huey’s eyes grew wide.

“We’ll be right back,” Huey said sweetly, grabbing both of Webby’s wrists and yanking her inside the houseboat.

He led her to a corner of the house and then, after glancing over his shoulder, gave Webby a panicked look. “Webby, what was that? We promised to never say his name in front of Mom -”

“Where’s Dewey?” Webby shouted frantically. “I need to find Dewey - discuss some things -”

“Yo,” a familiar voice said.

Webby whirled around and nearly fell over while doing so - Dewey was lying on the couch, scrolling through his phone, which was a very Louie thing to do.

“Dewey, are you still on the couch?” Louie admonished, popping up from behind the sofa. “Webby’s over, c’mon.”

And then Webby realized there was something still very wrong.

Dewey pulled on his blue _hoodie_.

Louie fidgeted with his green _hat_.

Huey looked nervous in his red _layered shirt_ and _no hat_.

Webby rubbed her eyes and stared at the triplets again. It was like they had switched styles of clothing.

No, not just clothing.

It was like they had switched personalities.

“This - this is just a prank, right?” Webby said desperately.

“What’s a prank?” Dewey glanced up from his phone, suddenly looking interested. “There’s a prank?”

Webby hurried over to Dewey, sat next to him, and made herself comfortable on the couch before whispering into his ear, “Why is your mom here?”

Dewey gave her a weird look. “Because she . . . lives here?”

“But where’s -”

Huey pulled Webby off of the couch. “Webby, not here!” he said hurriedly. “What’s with you?”

“What’s with me? What’s with all of _you?”_ she cried, pointing to each of the triplets. “You’ve all switched -” She froze. _“Wait -”_

Switched.

That was what had been off the entire day.

First Launchpad and Mrs. B, and then there had been Fenton and Gyro, and now the triplets - they all had switched.

It really wasn’t a prank.

“But -” Webby stared at the triplets. “How did you - how did I -”

Something popped into her head. If _Della_ was here, in the houseboat, then . . . and if Huey was like _Dewey_ . . .

Webby turned to Huey and looked at him very seriously. “Do you have a picture of the note?”

Huey raised an eyebrow. “What note?”

Oh . . . kay, so that hadn’t worked like she’d thought it would. Instead she asked a different question: “Okay, so what’ve we found out about _him?”_

“Not here!” Huey whispered, giving her a crazy look. “Are you _nuts?”_

So Donald really _was_ missing and was just of a big deal as Della was in the normal universe.

And . . . that left just one question.

“But then -” Webby thought desperately. “Why aren’t you at the mansion?”

“The mansion?” Louie blinked in confusion.

And then the answer came to Webby.

It was the reason why Scrooge had seemed like his old self. The reason why Webby, Launchpad, and Mrs. B had eaten in the kitchen and not in the dining room, and the reason why the mansion had been so quiet.

Della and the triplets had never gone to live at the mansion in the first place.

And that meant Scrooge had never met the triplets.


	2. What Now?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After a dizzying morning in this new and strange universe, Webby wants to get used to it but isn't quite sure what to do now.

Webby had only been up for three and a half hours, but she already knew today was going to be a very long day.

She felt like she’d been awake for hours. Days. Maybe even a full week. Yet it was only eleven-thirty in the morning, almost lunch, and here she was, standing in front of her three best friends in a houseboat that was somehow now owned by _Della Duck_ and was too far away from the mansion for Webby’s liking.

“Webby?” Huey waved a hand in front of her face. “Hello?”

Webby shook her head to clear her thoughts. “Huh?”

“You dazed out for a bit,” Huey said. “Anyway, you seem tired lately. You aren’t sick, are you?”

“I’m not sick,” Webby said. She wearily sat down on the couch, rubbing her forehead. “This is all so confusing.”

“What’s confusing?” Louie said.

“How I got here, or why Della’s here and not -”

Huey grabbed her wrist in warning. Webby immediately shut her beak.

“Not who?” Louie said suspiciously.

“Not, uh -” Webby tried to think of a reasonable excuse. “Launchpad? I - I mean my granny?”

Dewey raised an eyebrow. “Who’s Launchpad?”

Oh _no_ \- Webby’s heart sank. He didn’t know who one of his _best_ _friends_ was. She suppressed the urge to clench her fists out of frustration and instead she waved that away, saying, “Oh, uh, he’s someone in the mansion.”

Maybe, she thought, Dewey would remember who Launchpad was. A small flicker of hope burst inside of her for a split second - but then Dewey just went back to his phone, and Webby’s hopes dwindled down a bit.

Maybe it’d work for Huey and Louie - she could try and trigger their memories. It was worth a shot.

“And, uh, there’s a lot of expensive gold in the mansion,” she added, looking at Louie. “There’s a whole garage full of stuff.”

Louie raised an eyebrow. “Why are you looking at me?”

“Sounds interesting,” Dewey said from his spot on the couch.

 _Last chance_ , Webby thought desperately. She turned to Huey. What did Huey like in the normal universe? “And there’s a lot of books in -” In where? “- in all the living rooms, where you can read up on adventures and know all about them before going on them!”

“Adventures?” Huey perked up.

“Books?” Louie brightened.

Webby’s hopes vanished completely. Triggering their memories wasn’t working at all - what other choices did she have? Maybe this was a one-day thing and tomorrow she’d wake up in her universe again?

Alright then, she decided. Change of tactics.

“Um - do any of you remember your uncles?” she tried.

Huey shot her a look, but Louie and Dewey gave her confused expressions. “I think we have _one,_ ” Louie said. “Singular. But we’ve never met him.”

Dewey nodded in agreement.

Okay, okay. So which one were they talking about? With the process of elimination, she guessed they were talking about Donald. Clearly Huey hadn’t told his siblings what he and Webby had found . . . but that meant they didn’t know Scrooge existed.

Or, rather, they didn’t know that he was their uncle.

Webby drew in a deep breath and slowly let it out. “So what _do_ you know about your uncle?”

Louie shrugged. “Not much, just that he disappeared years ago. Mom doesn’t really talk about him.”

Webby and Huey side-glanced each other.

Huey let out a nervous laugh. “Yeah, um, I don’t think we could make Mom talk about him, so -”

“Webby!” Mrs. B stuck her head into the living room. “We’re staying for lunch.”

“ - so sweet!” Huey grinned, looking eager to change the subject. “You haven’t stayed over for lunch in a while.”

There was a beat of silence. Webby glanced around, finding all the triplets deep in thought.

“Oh!” Louie shot to his feet. “Webby, I wanted to show you something!”

“It isn’t that poster again, is it?” Dewey rolled his eyes.

“Well, she hasn’t seen it yet!” Louie defended. He gestured for Webby to follow him. “C’mon, I’ll show it to you.”

Louie led Webby to what she assumed was the triplets’ bedroom, with Huey behind her - Dewey had stayed behind on the couch. She’d never seen their bedroom on the houseboat, even in the normal universe, but when they entered the room she found the triple-bunk bed she’d been looking for that morning. The wall space by each bunk bed was covered in something different - Huey’s was covered in stickers, Dewey’s was plain and bare, and Louie’s was covered in . . . posters. Of an oddly familiar robotic suit and the word “Gizmoduck”.

Louie climbed onto his bed - the bed closest to the floor - and pointed to one of the posters. “Look at this new Gizmoduck poster I got!” he said excitedly. “It’s a couple years old, but it’s still in good condition and get this - the visor’s even _shiny_ -”

“Oh -” Webby blinked. “Who’s Gizmoduck?”

The question was simple and short, but it left Huey and Louie with astonished faces. Webby winced - she’d acted out of character for herself in this universe, hadn’t she?

“What?” Louie stared at her.

Huey looked uneasy. “You know who he is, Webby.”

She probably did, Webby thought, but that wasn’t the normal universe’s Webby. She gave the boys an awkward smile. “Who is he . . . again?”

“Are you sure you’re okay?” Huey squinted suspiciously. “Louie talks about Gizmoduck so much you definitely know who he is.”

Louie shot Huey a glare, but the latter didn’t notice.

Before an awkward beat of silence could begin, Della’s voice rang out through the houseboat - “Lunch!” she called, and Webby brightened.

“Thank goodness,” Webby said, relieved. “I’m hungry. I’ve been out all day.”

“You have?” Huey grinned. “Big day for you, then. Where’d you go?”

“Oh, you know -” Where _had_ she gone? “- Gyro’s lab.”

Huey paused before heading out the door. “Who?”

Oh, shoot. She’d done it again. “I - I mean Fenton’s lab,” Webby quickly said. She paused. “You . . . do know who Fenton is, right?”

“You bet _I_ do.” Louie joined Huey by the doorway, his face filled with awe. “So like, Fenton Crackshell-Cabrera?”

Webby shrugged, but a glimmer of hope sprouted in her chest again. “How do you know him?”

“He’s a scientist,” Louie explained. “You really got to see him? What was he like?”

“Uh . . .” She thought back to the lab visit again.

“. . . interesting,” she concluded.

And before she could answer anything else, she hurried out of the bedroom.

~

Lunch was quick, but definitely delicious. Webby didn’t talk very much through the meal and instead just listened to the triplets talk about pretty much anything - just like they always did.

Except the things they talked about were all switched.

At least, to her. At one point, Huey dramatically started telling a story of what he’d done that day (not much, just somehow got banned from skateboarding in the house) until Louie shut him up with a death glare and a “Yeah, _thanks_ , Huey.”

“Skateboarding?” Webby asked.

“He tried to skateboard in the house, but he broke something and Mom banned it,” Dewey explained.

Della frowned. “It was for your own good.”

“At least you didn’t ban _reading_ from the house,” Louie muttered.

"Thanks for the idea,” Huey said slyly.

Louie glared at him again. “Don’t you dare.”

Huey just went back to his food, playfully shrugging.

Webby watched this conversation with great interest. This conversation forcefully reminded her of her Dewey, Huey, and Donald from the normal universe.

Things really were backwards here.

After lunch, the triplets and Webby all gathered in the living room while Della and Mrs. B cleaned up. Webby was under the impression that the triplets usually cleaned up, too, but Della didn’t mention anything. So, naturally, the boys didn’t mention anything, either.

“So,” Louie began, “what’s the occasion?”

Webby blinked. “The occasion?”

“You know, for visiting us!” Huey bounced up and down from his seat on the sofa. “There’s gotta be something.”

“Uh . . . not really,” Webby said slowly. Her head was still reeling from all that happened that morning. “Sorry, I’ve been . . . tired lately.”

“Oh, so that’s why you asked about Gizmoduck.” Louie nodded thoughtfully.

“Yes, mhmm,” Webby said quickly. “Absolutely.”

“Did you do anything yesterday?” Huey asked.

Webby’s face lit up. “I went on an adventure yesterday!” she recounted, remembering what fun she’d had. “There were these bubbles with hats on them, it was the funniest thing, and Uncle -”

. . . and, oh. She stopped herself - right. None of that had . . . actually happened.

“You have an uncle?” Dewey said.

 _Did_ she anymore? With a sinking heart, the conversation she’d had with Scrooge that morning settled back into her mind, and she forced herself to shake her head.

“Nevermind,” she mumbled. “I didn’t do anything yesterday. I, uh, pretended to go on an adventure.”

“Bubbles with hats?” Huey grinned. “I wanna meet those.”

“Believe me, you don’t,” Webby said. “They set fire to anything they land on.”

“Sounds even _better!”_ Huey remarked, striking a pose.

Webby smiled. Just a bit.

~

An hour or so of the triplets talking about anything and everything flew by, and Webby mainly tried to get used to these new triplets. It was unnerving to see them all switched - to see Dewey lazy enough to the point where he didn’t want to do anything, to see Huey break all the rules, and for Louie to _enforce_ the rules.

Louie. Enforcing rules! Webby bit back down a laugh when that popped into her mind.

Sometimes one of the triplets would pause - often, really - and ask her if she _was_ okay because, Webby, you’re being awfully quiet today. And Webby just used the same excuse she did every time - everything was fine, really. She was just a little tired, that was all.

Eventually Mrs. B announced that it was time for her and Webby to leave, and Webby inwardly sighed with relief. She loved the triplets, she really did, but she needed a few hours to herself to think everything through.

But Huey stopped her before she could get up. “Oh, uh, Webby!” he said quickly, grabbing Webby’s wrist and yanking her off the couch. “You forgot something in our room. Hold on, we’ll be right back.”

“I did?” Webby glanced at Huey in confusion.

But he only pulled her along down the hallway and back into the triplets’ rooms, and when Huey had shoved her in, she whirled around to find Huey raising an eyebrow at her.

“What?” she said.

“That was really close,” he said. Huh, the door was closed - he must’ve shut it while Webby wasn’t paying attention. “You almost said his name two times and we haven’t even told my brothers yet.”

“Why haven’t we?” Webby said, her brow wrinkling.

“Remember? If we told them, Louie would probably tell Mom and Dewey can’t keep a secret. Plus they wouldn’t be interested in this stuff, anyway.”

Webby’s gaze went back to the Gizmoduck posters by Louie’s bunk bed . . . before she caught Huey staring at her again.

“Okay, um, when I visit again I want to know everything about him we’ve learned so far,” Webby said, tearing her eyes away from the triple-bunk bed. “You know, look over what we’ve found.”

Huey paused, then rubbed his chin in thought. “To just look stuff over to make sure we have it?”

“Exactly,” Webby said quickly. “And can’t we tell them a little bit, at least?”

Huey shook his head. “And you’re not supposed to come here all that often, anyway, so -”

What? “Why not?”

“Because.” Huey gestured to nothing in particular. “You live with Scrooge McDuck and Mom doesn’t like him. Honestly, sometimes I can’t believe she still lets us hang out with you.”

“She doesn’t?” Well, that was bad news. No wonder they weren’t in the mansion.

A sudden thought occurred to Webby. Was this what Della was like in the normal universe? Would she ever come back and - oh, no, would she take the triplets _away_ from the mansion, too??

“Earth to Webby?” Huey waved a hand in front of her face for the second time that day. “See if you can get in the archives again and find more information on him. Okay?”

“In the archives . . . but I need the DNA of -”

“- of one of us, I know.” Huey rustled around in a desk drawer, pulled out a glass jar, and - to Webby’s surprise - spit in it. “Here you go.”

Webby looked at the jar in horror. “I get in with your _spit?”_

“Hey, it was your idea.” Huey looked cross. “How else is Quackfaster gonna let you in?”

“She’ll never let me in with _spit!”_

“She let you in with it, like, a bazillion times before!” Huey put a lid on the jar and handed it to Webby. “Okay, now let’s go.”

And so Huey left the room, with a very confused and slightly dazed Webby following him, looking a little grossed out at the jar of Huey’s spit that she clutched in both hands. When they entered the living room, Webby hid the jar behind her back.

“There you are,” Mrs. B said. “What did you forget?”

“Oh, nothing important,” Webby said quickly, sliding past her granny and a skeptic Della. “Just, uh, a pen. Anyway, we should get going, Granny, remember?”

“Right,” Mrs. B clarified, smiling. “See you all soon, we hope.”

“Bye, Webby and Mrs. Beakley!” the triplets chorused, waving goodbye. Webby shot them an awkward smile before hurrying out of the houseboat’s door.

Mrs. B and Webby climbed into the car, and soon they were off. “Looks like the triplets and Della were alright,” she said, glancing at her granddaughter in the rearview mirror. “Satisfied, dear?”

“Oh, yeah.” Webby forced a smile on her face; the tiny jar of spit was hidden under her skirt. When her granny turned around, Webby grabbed the jar and stared at it in her hands.

“Yeah,” she repeated quietly.

The car pulled into the mansion’s driveway several minutes later, and Webby hopped out of the car first. For a fleeting second she imagined herself animatedly telling the boys about what she’d just done - maybe by bribing Louie with money or that Pep soda he liked - before realizing that the triplets were _not_ at the mansion and in a houseboat miles away.

Mrs. B pushed open the door to the mansion and she and Webby headed inside. Launchpad was nowhere to be seen, and neither was Scrooge.

“Hey, Granny?” Webby said. “Where’s Scrooge?”

“You mean Mr. McDuck?” Mrs. B glanced at Webby. “In his office, I suppose. Why?”

“No reason,” Webby mumbled. How on earth would she get a ride to the archives? “I’m going upstairs. Tell me when it’s time for dinner.”

~

The rest of the day seemed to go by intensely slow as a snail trying to finish a running race. To try and make the day go a little bit faster, Webby decided to explore the mansion to see if anything had changed in this universe. Her quest proved successful: for one thing, her McDuck family board was more or less the same, except for a new picture of Della Duck in her jacket and headband - and _no_ picture of the triplets, just their penciled-in names and a string connecting that to Della.

For another thing, she learned (from Launchpad) that the big dining room was never used - ever. Apparently Scrooge ate all meals either at the bin or in his office, and the rest of the staff - Mrs. B, Launchpad, and Webby - ate in the kitchen.

Webby didn’t know what to do with the jar of spit, since she also couldn’t figure out how to sneak into the archives, so she eventually washed out the jar and put it in one of her desk drawers, and after that she began to wonder how she’d get back to her universe.

Was it even possible? she wondered. Maybe she could find Lena in this universe and _she_ could help Webby get back home. Or maybe this was all a weird dream and it’d disappear when she went to sleep that night.

So when night rolled around - after dinner in the kitchen with Launchpad and her granny - Webby slipped on her pajamas, removed the bow from her hair, and then climbed into bed. It took her awhile to fall asleep, but when she did, it was restless.

~

Webby sleepily opened her eyes.

Sunlight streamed in through her window, resting on a spot on her blankets. She didn’t know what time it was, but she started to close her eyes again and drift back off to sleep - before yesterday suddenly sank in, and then she wasn’t tired anymore.

She wondered if she was in the normal universe again.

Heart thumping with semi-curiousness, she didn’t bother getting dressed and made her way down into the quiet foyer. First she carefully pushed open the door to the dining room - nothing. No one was in there.

She glanced outside the mansion - again, nothing.

She checked in the kitchen - there was Launchpad, making _something_ on the stove, and he certainly didn’t look like his normal self.

 _So I’m still stuck here,_ Webby thought, her heart sinking. Nevertheless, she mustered up her cheeriest voice as well as she could and said, “Good morning!”

Launchpad glanced over his shoulder and smiled in return. “Good morning,” he answered, returning to the pot on the stove and stirring whatever was inside. “If you’re wondering where everyone is, your granny is driving Mr. McDuck somewhere this morning. They should be back by noon.”

“And what about -” Webby stopped herself in the nick of time. “I - I mean, uh -” Was there anyone else in the house? Duckworth, maybe?

“What about what?” Launchpad raised an eyebrow.

“Uh, nothing. Sorry.” Webby took a seat at the table in the back of the kitchen. “Just - wondering if I have anything to do today.”

“Most likely not.”

“Oh.”

There was a steady stream of silence after that, except for the stove gradually getting warmer and Launchpad humming something to himself. Webby started quietly looking around the room, seeing if anything had changed - nothing _had_ changed, really. Except an action figure of some duck in a purple cape sitting on one of the window ledges nearest to Launchpad.

As much as she wanted to get home, she had to admit that it was cool to see what had changed and what stayed.

But other than that, she wanted to get home as fast as possible . . .

. . . and she didn’t quite know how.

~

After a breakfast of oatmeal and fruit, the day passed by as slowly as ever. Rain came down, thick and fast, which meant Webby couldn’t go outside - she almost wished she could just visit the archives to spend time in there, but she’d washed Huey’s jar out already and there was no way she’d get a ride to the archives or even the Money Bin itself.

Once or twice she thought back to the posters in the triplets’ room. She remembered Louie’s startled face when she asked who Gizmoduck was and what Huey had said - _“You know who he is, Webby.”_

But, no, she thought. She really didn’t know.

When the sun finally set and the time drew closer to her bedtime, after what seemed like ages, Webby took off her clothes, slipped on her pajamas, and took out her bow. Before she climbed into bed, she decided to find her granny and at least wish her goodnight - her granny was still her granny, no matter the personality change.

So she crept down the stairs as sneakily as she could, trying not to make any noise - before she froze on her tracks and immediately scurried up a few steps.

She peeked out from behind the wall.

Wherever Scrooge had been all day, he had returned home, and he was sopping wet from walking in the rain that hadn’t stopped since that morning. Launchpad was there at the front door, too, holding a pile of towels.

“Bah,” Scrooge muttered, snatching a towel from Launchpad’s pile and rubbing it over his clothes. “Blasted rainstorm. Hasn’t let up all day.” He grabbed another towel and threw the first at Launchpad.

“Your dinner is in your study,” Launchpad said, calmly picking the flung towel off of his shoulder and putting it at the bottom of the pile. “Like always.”

A sudden thought occurred to Webby. Was _Scrooge_ any different in this universe? Of course he was different from the normal universe, but that was just because he hadn’t met the triplets yet - or was it?

“That’ll taste good,” Scrooge remarked, somehow already through the entire pile of towels. “Don’t disturb me tonight and keep Beakley’s girl away from my office, will you?”

Webby stifled a pained gasp and found herself blinking tears away.

“Of course, Mr. McDuck.” Launchpad’s voice dropped as he added, “But, sir, Webby doesn’t mean any harm, and I’m sure she’s just curious.”

“Too curious.” Scrooge dumped the rest of the wet towels in Launchpad’s arms. “And don’t let Beakley crash that limousine anymore, Launchpad.” And with that, he straightened his hat, brushed off his coat, and then headed to the direction of his study.

Webby pulled her head from around the wall and instead just sat on the stairs, hidden from Launchpad’s view. She rubbed her eyes until she was sure she wouldn’t cry - _you’re in another universe,_ she tried telling herself, _and that’s why he doesn’t like you. But he will!_

She sounded more confident than she actually felt.

She drew in a shaky breath, made sure Launchpad wasn’t in the foyer, and made her way down the stairs again.

She eventually found her granny in one of the living rooms, thumbing through a collection of movie cases all packed neatly together in a box.

“Granny?” Webby said quietly from the doorway.

Mrs. B looked up in surprise. “Webby! Do you need something?”

“Um -” Why had she come down here in the first place? Oh, right. “- I just wanted to say goodnight.”

Mrs. B smiled and joined her granddaughter. “You were a little strange yesterday,” she said. “Is everything alright?”

“Yes,” Webby said quickly. She was _not_ sick. “Just tired, I guess.”

“Well, then, you better get some sleep.”

What was the point of going to bed on time, though? She didn’t have anywhere to go. Maybe she could convince her granny to take her to a library or something.

She asked Mrs. B the same question she’d told Launchpad - “Am I doing anything tomorrow?”

“I’m sure you have schoolwork to catch up on,” Mrs. B said. “Same as almost every day.”

Just . . . schoolwork? No adventures, no leaving the house, no even visiting the triplets - just schoolwork?

“Can we go visit the -” she started, but her granny shook her head.

“Remember, Della - _she_ thought it would be wise to only visit once a week,” Mrs. B said. “And we visited them a couple days ago.”

 _What?_ She couldn’t see her best friends more than once a _week?_ Webby almost protested, but she didn’t have the energy to, so her shoulders simply sank.

Mrs. B gave Webby a gentle hug. “I know you want to see them,” she sympathesized. “But you know how Mr. McD would act if he found out.”

Webby didn’t say anything.

“Goodnight,” she finally said moments later, turning around.

“Goodnight, dear.”

Webby left the living room after that and climbed back up the stairs. She saw Launchpad in the foyer again, but neither of them said anything.  
She climbed into her bed, crawling underneath her bed’s blankets, and lay there for a while. She thought of almost anything that came to her mind - the strange, crazy couple of days she’d had, what this universe’s Webby did for fun (or did at all), and every question she could think of.

She couldn’t get back to the normal universe - sleeping hadn’t worked. She didn’t know of any other way to get out of this strange world.

So what now?


	3. The Gizmoduck Expedition (Part 1)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Huey, Dewey, and Louie band together to find out who Gizmoduck's alter ego is with a carefully crafted scheme.

_Who's Gizmoduck?_

The question baffled Louie more than he wanted to admit. Who was _Gizmoduck?_ Was Webby _crazy?_ Of course she knew who he was - he talked about it so much that her sudden confusion had startled him.

It still did. He didn't know what to do with the question. He'd dismissed it as her being tired from whatever she'd done the day before, but . . . he really didn't think it had to do with lack of sleep.

But, a few days after Webby had last visited the houseboat, it struck him.

He'd been in the middle of dinner, sitting at the houseboat's table booth with his brothers and Della, when suddenly it hit Louie like a meteor. It hit him so hard he swayed a bit and stared into the distance.

Who was Gizmoduck?

No no - _who_ was Gizmoduck? Who was his _alter ego?_ Unlike the other superhero in Duckburg, whose alter ego was pretty well known, Gizmoduck's identity was virtually nonexistent. Poof. Gone. 

Maybe Webby had been onto something.

Immediately theories of all kinds started popping like bubbles inside his mind. What if he tried to solve it? By himself? And become one of the few civilians (or the _only_ civilian) who knew who Gizmoduck was?

"Louie?"

Louie shook his head and found himself staring at Della.

She looked concerned, her fork paused halfway to her mouth. "Are you alright?" she asked.

"Oh - um, yeah, fine," Louie said, clearly distracted.

Out of the corner of his eye, he caught Huey and Dewey sliding a glance at each other. _Dang it._

Della smiled. "Think of an exciting new project to work on?"

. . . in a way, yes.

"Something like that," said Louie. He stood up. "May I be excused?"

"No, stick around." Della used her fork to push food around on her plate. "You can work on this new project before bed."

Louie sunk into the booth, but he started finishing his dinner nevertheless.

"Oh, and Louie," Della started, "you have a Junior Woodchuck meeting tomorrow. After lunch, I think." She gestured to Huey and Dewey across the table from her. "And what are you two planning on doing tomorrow?"

". . . hunt for adventure?" Huey tried.

Dewey shrugged.

Della raised an eyebrow. "No, Huey."

"Darn it," Huey muttered, pouting.

"Who needs adventure when we live in a houseboat?" Della cracked a smile. "Also you have school to catch up on, bud."

Ha. Luckily for Louie, _he'd_ already done most of his work for tomorrow. Which meant he had more time to figure out how to find Gizmoduck's identity. Ooh, did any of the other superheroes know his identity? Did they all know each other and were they all _friends?_

Back-up plan: if this plan failed, hunt down the other superhero and see if _he_ knew Gizmoduck's identity.

As soon as dinner ended and the table cleared, Louie headed straight for his bedroom. He immediately took a seat at his desk, took out a notebook and a pencil, and then started thinking - hard. He scribbled down any ideas he thought of. Things like: does Gizmoduck know anyone I know? Do _I_ know him? Do I know anyone who knows him?

Eventually Louie was forced to go to bed when he saw how late it was getting, and he quickly slipped on pajamas and climbed into bed. The bed, unfortunately, that was closest to the floor in the triple-bunk bed.

Huey had it lucky, he thought, as he rolled over in his bed and pulled the blankets up more. The top bunk had been envied by him and his brothers until Della settled it with "Huey's the oldest, so he gets first pick." And Huey had obviously gone with the top bunk, Dewey had taken the middle bunk, and Louie was stuck with the last bunk.

Not that Louie complained. He tried not to.

Exhausted from thinking so much for the last couple of hours, Louie closed his eyes and quickly fell asleep.

~

"Alright, Junior Woodchucks! I need your attention - _Louie Duck,_ I believe I said I need your _attention?"_

Louie started. "Huh?"

The leader of his Junior Woodchuck troop - a duck with a black bow in her fashionable hairdo - stared expectantly at him, arching an eyebrow. "I need your attention, Mr. Duck," she repeated. "This field trip isn't going to explain itself."

Louie could only offer a nervous grin. His mind had been elsewhere - of course, where else would it be than his list of Gizmoduck theories, sitting neatly in one of his desk drawers? 

"Sorry, Daisy," he said.

His troop leader was, of course, Daisy Duck - a strict but loving Woodchuck with a sense of style in her hairdo. Louie liked to assume she had a sense of style in her clothes, too, but he'd never seen her out of the Woodchuck uniform. Now that he thought about it, he didn't actually know what Daisy did outside of being a Junior Woodchuck troop leader.

Daisy surveyed the rest of his troop before going on. "The next field trip that the Junior Woodchucks has to offer is an exclusive trip to McDuck Enterprises - which is, as you know, the business of Scrooge McDuck."

The troop all sat up a little straighter on their log seats. Louie in return did the opposite - he slouched, knowing that Della would never let him go on _this_ field trip. It was the opportunity of a _lifetime_ , what with that a well-known scientist worked there.

On the other hand . . . it was for Junior Woodchuck purposes. His mother had been a Woodchuck - surely she'd let this one slide, right?

"Since we Junior Woodchucks pride ourselves on being experts on - well - anything, this trip will consist of a tour around Mr. McDuck's office downtown, which includes his money bin and the lab of one of the most well-known scientists in Duckburg." Daisy gestured to a stack of permission slips on a table beside her. "Permission slips are due in a week. The trip date is next week as well. I'll hand these out at the end of today's meeting, so everyone stand up and follow me."

Louie slid off his seat - as did his fellow Woodchucks - and started to follow his troop leader out of the Woodchuck Cabin's main hall and into a hallway. It didn't take Daisy long to explain what they'd be doing.

"Today we'll be taking a good look at our caterpillars," Daisy announced. Louie's troop had collected caterpillars the meeting before and put them in jars with leaves, to see if they'd turn into butterflies. "I hope everyone brought their Junior Woodchuck Guidebooks, because we'll be writing down our observations in there."

Louie wordlessly clutched his guidebook, staring at his worn cover as he followed his troop down the lit hallway. His grip on the guidebook tightened.

He'd never be able to go on that field trip.

Della would make quick work of that.

The troop reached the room where their caterpillar jars had been stored and started to find their jars, which were conveniently marked with their names. Louie found the jar marked with his name and was delighted to find that his caterpillar had spun itself a chrysalis already, hanging from the jar's lid. He took his jar to one of the tables, set it down, and opened his guidebook to a blank page to write.

As he started jotting down observations, Daisy came to join him at his table. "Excellent," she said, nodding at the chrysalis. "Your caterpillar will make a nice butterfly."

"Thank you," Louie prompted.

He scribbled down another thing. Daisy hesitated, then said something else. "Louie, I know your mother isn't - um - particularly lenient on field trips like these, but do you think she would -"

"Sorry." Louie shook his head, and his shoulders sank a bit. "She'd never let me go."

"Not even for this once?"

Louie shook his head again.

"Well, I'd like it if all my Junior Woodchucks could experience this at least one time." Daisy straightened. "Tell you what. When your mom comes to pick you up today, I'll try to talk to her and see if she'll let you."

"Thanks, but - I don't know how far it'll get you."

Daisy smiled. "I'll try my best."

Louie watched as his troop leader walked off to another table and commented on their caterpillar. Daisy was a _lifesaver,_ he thought, turning back to his own jar. Convincing Della to let him go on the field trip was probably a lost cause already, but it wouldn't hurt to try.

And he definitely wanted to try.

~

Suffice it to say, Daisy really had tried hard to convince Della. While the other Woodchucks grabbed their permission slips and ran off to their parents, Daisy waited until everyone had taken one except Louie and then personally gave it to Della and explained the situation.

Della took one look at the permission slip and shook her head.

Louie's heart sank.

"I'd like it if all my Woodchucks could visit McDuck Enterprises at least once, while they're still _Junior_ Woodchucks," Daisy informed, planting her hands on her hips.

"I'd like it if my child wouldn't take a trip to such nonsense." Della folded her arms in return.

 _"Nonsense?_ We're taking a simple tour around the office and then visiting the lab!"

"Exactly my point - a tour _and_ the lab."

"We've specifically asked Dr. Crackshell to only show the kids his latest scientific discoveries and inventions! I'm sure nothing will harm them."

 _Dr. Crackshell?_ And Louie was going to _miss_ seeing him?

"Please, Mom?" Louie tried, looking up at Della. "I've never met him before!"

"Louie, you know what I've said before," Della said firmly. She faced Daisy again. "I apologize, but my kid _isn't_ going to McDuck Enterprises with his troop."

"With all due respect, ma'am, Scrooge McDuck is usually busy and I don't think we'll see him during the tour -"

If Della hadn't made up her mind before, _that_ certainly did the trick. She gritted her teeth, shoved the permission slip back in Daisy's hands, and then took Louie's wrist. "No son of mine is ever stepping _foot_ in there," Della snapped. "Nor will he be meeting that no-good rich duck. Louie's skipping this trip."

Daisy clutched the slip, surprised.

Then she took a deep breath. "I understand, Mrs. Duck. I'm sorry Louie won't be able to join us." She really did sound apologetic as she cast a sorrowful glance at Louie - but then she frowned, and she straightened her Woodchuck uniform. "But it really _was_ going to be a once-in-a-lifetime trip."

And with that, Daisy promptly spun around on her heel and stormed off.

Della took a deep breath, too. "Let's go, Louie."

The walk back to the car was silent. Della didn't say anything, and neither did Louie; when they reached the car, he quickly opened the backseat door and climbed in.

Huey and Dewey sat in the backseat, Dewey on his phone and Huey looking bored. Both perked up when they saw Louie sit next to them, but then frowned when they noticed his sulky mood.

"You good?" Dewey asked.

Louie buckled in and then slumped into his seat. "The Junior Woodchucks are taking a trip to McDuck Enterprises," he mumbled.

He didn't need to say anything more - his brothers understood at once. "And Mom won't let you go?" Huey said.

Louie didn't answer.

Silence reigned over the triplets once more, and Della finally opened her car door and sat in the driver's seat. With a few clicks and grunts, the car was on its way back to the houseboat.

~

Louie's mood didn't lift for most of the afternoon. After busying himself with looking over his caterpillar's chrysalis reports - which were exciting to him;his brothers? Not so much - he finally got up off the living room sofa and headed to his room.

He closed the door behind him, and then walked over to his desk. He pulled open the drawer with his Gizmoduck list, fully prepared to lay his gaze on his notebook.

Except the notebook wasn't there.

Louie's eyes widened. Where had it gone? Did Della have it? She seemed kind of annoyed by Gizmoduck, but he didn't know if she would like what his new project was at all -

"Looking for something?"

He whirled around.

Huey and Dewey were sitting on their bunk beds - Huey swung his legs in the air, and in Dewey's hands was the notebook.

"Give that back!" Louie demanded.

Dewey raised an eyebrow. "Gizmoduck's alter ego? What's that about?"

"I don't have to tell you anything," Louie insisted. He started climbing the triple-bunk bed ladder to Dewey's bunk and grabbed for his notebook. "Just give it back."

Huey leaned down, closer to his brothers. "We know how much you like Gizmoduck, but isn't this going a bit, I dunno, too far?"

"You were there - right? Wasn't Webby acting weird?" Louie argued. "She asked who Gizmoduck was - Dewey, seriously - and maybe she meant his alter ego! And we don't see her that much, so I figured - _give me that back, Dewford -"_

"So you were basically pulling a scheme _without_ my help?" Dewey mocked an wounded expression. "I'm offended."

Louie finally managed to snatch his notebook from Dewey's grasp, resting in the middle of the ladder. "I wasn't really thinking of it like a _scheme_ \- more like a project, just one where I'd snoop around and - oh." He swallowed. "Oh, this really is a scheme."

"The topic? Gizmoduck. The question? Who's his alter ego?" Dewey dramatically waved his hands in the air. "C'mon, Louie! I wanna be in on your scheme."

"But I didn't -"

"I'm in, too!" Huey declared. "Where do we start?"

Louie paused, surprised. He looked at his brothers' expectant faces - at Dewey's smooth grin and at Huey's excited expression.

"You really want to help?" Louie said finally.

"Yes!" Huey exclaimed.

"What's a scheme without Dewey Duck involved?" Dewey said. "What're your theories so far? I gotta know if we're in on this."

Louie cautiously plopped down next to Dewey - Huey scrambled halfway down the ladder and sat next to Louie, who flipped open his notebook to his list of Gizmoduck theories. "I only thought of it last night at dinner, so I don't have very many theories - I was just writing things down off the top of my head."

Dewey surveyed the list and absentmindedly nodded. "So you want to know if _we_ personally know him, first of all. I say we do a little digging around on the 'web." He pulled out his phone and started typing something into it. "Who . . . is . . . Gizmoduck's . . . alter ego?"

Louie and Huey held their breaths.

Then Dewey frowned. "Okay, then."

"What?" his brothers asked in unison.

"There's nothing." Dewey tapped his phone a few times. "Just stuff about Gizmoduck sightings, but nothing about his alter ego."

"Really?" Huey said, frowning.

Louie's heart sank. "So what are we going to do?"

Dewey shrugged innocently, a grin starting to form on his beak. "Just means we have to work harder, dear brother. So we're going to plan a scheme to figure this out and we're going to do it _right."_

~

Louie and Huey crowded around Dewey's desk, Dewey standing in front of his desk and his brothers standing behind it. Dewey lay a piece of cardboard, a tin of thumbtacks, and a stack of notecards on his desk before them.

He grabbed a marker and took off its cap. "Number one rule of scheming: play it smooth. There's a problem you didn't see before? Either I already thought of it or _improvise."_

"What if we get caught?" Louie asked.

Dewey arched an eyebrow. "Number two rule of scheming: don't get caught."

He wrote something on the cardboard and then turned it upside-down from his angle. The words _the Gizmoduck Mystery_ blared back up at his brothers.

"Mystery doesn't sound right," Louie said.

"What do you mean, it doesn't sound _right?"_ Dewey said incredulously.

"You need another word, like - the Gizmoduck _Quest!"_ Huey declared. "Or the Gizmoduck _Adventure!_ Or -"

"The Gizmoduck _Expedition."_ Louie grabbed the marker from Dewey, scribbled out the words _Mystery_ , and wrote in _Expedition_ instead.

"Fine, if you wanna be all fancy shmancy." Dewey snatched his marker back. _"Anyway_ \- the Gizmoduck Expedition. Gizmoduck's alter ego is so secret that there isn't any information on the web." He scribbled that down on a notecard and thumbtacked it onto the top of the cardboard. "So what do we do now?"

Louie and Huey glanced at each other and shrugged.

Dewey gave them a deadpan expression. "We need to snoop around."

"How do we start?" Louie asked. "What are we supposed to do - uh - find Gizmoduck and make him tell us?"

 _"That's_ a superhero idea!" Huey brightened. "Let's do that."

"What? No, we're gonna look like a bunch of crazed lunatics." Dewey ran a hand over his face and beak. "Okay, listen - we're gonna need some inside people. Mom's a maybe, but probably not. I'd suggest Webby or Mrs. B but we only see them once a week."

"No one else is really up for the job," Louie realized. "Darn it."

". . . nevermind, we can't afford inside people." Dewey shrugged. "We'll do it ourselves, then. Louie!"

Louie jumped, startled.

"Never thought I'd be asking this, but what do you know about Gizmoduck?"

"Oh, uh -" Flustered, Louie ran through facts in his head. "What do you want to know?"

"His origin story?" Huey suggested.

"Well -" Louie paused. "Gizmoduck started saving citizens of Duckburg and fighting crime around ten years ago, when Scrooge McDuck stopped adventuring," he offered. "Rumor has it that Mr. McDuck himself asked Gizmoduck to do it, but no one's exactly sure."

" _Dang it,_ Mom," Dewey muttered. "That field trip would've really come in handy."

Huey tilted his head. "What do you mean?"

Something clicked in Louie's mind.

"Because if Mr. McDuck asked Gizmoduck to _be_ a superhero . . ." Dewey gestured for Louie to finish.

". . . then we'd need to start at McDuck Enterprises!" Louie finished.

All three brothers slumped instantly.

"Welp, mystery over." Huey turned around. "Mom's never letting us get inside there."

Dewey reached over and grabbed the back of Huey's shirt, pulling him back to the desk. "Mystery _not_ over," he insisted. "So no one knows who Gizmoduck is, we need to start at McDuck Enterprises, and Mom won't let us go there. Who cares? Mom's just not an inside person after all."

"Then how on earth do we _get_ to McDuck Enterprises?" Louie raised an eyebrow.

Dewey's face fell. "Good question."

There was a beat of silence.

"Mrs. B?" Huey finally suggested.

"What day is it, quick?" Dewey asked.

"Uh - Wednesday?" Louie supplied.

Dewey's face burst into a grin. _"Perfect!"_ he cried. "Webby visited us last Saturday!"

"So then -" Huey lit up. "We can ask Mom to have them over!"

"Here's the plan!" Dewey announced. "Mom probably needs to plan homeschool things and clean around the house with _us_ out of her hair. Tonight at dinner, I'll casually bring that up while subtly hinting at the idea of Mrs. B and Webby taking us out for . . . something. You two - follow my lead. Got it?" He held up his hand.

"Got it!" Louie and Huey chorused, and the triplets put their hands together in a three-way high-five.

~

The entire start to dinner consisted of Huey and Louie shooting glances at Dewey. Dewey in return just gestured for them to _wait_ and calm down - he'd ask it eventually.

Finally Della raised an eyebrow. "You three sure are quiet today."

"Just, uh -" Louie tried to come up with an excuse.

"Tired!" Huey burst out. "Yep, we're pretty tired."

"Tired indeed." Della smiled, then continued. "Anyway, tomorrow's plans, boys -"

Louie looked at Dewey from the corner of his eye.

"- I'll need to plan the rest of the school week and probably clean the house a bit -"

Dewey had been spot-on; Louie was impressed.

"- so I'll need you three to -"

"Oh, about that -" Dewey put down his fork. "You have a busy day tomorrow, right?"

"I assume so," Della said.

"And . . . if you help us clean, we'll probably just break stuff."

Della frowned. "Good point."

"And we'll probably just annoy you while you plan," Huey added.

Della rubbed her chin. "But all your usual babysitters are off tomorrow . . . I'm not leaving any of you in charge, and I don't need to remind you three why . . ."

"Mrs. B?" Louie suggested.

"We saw them last week, on Saturday," Huey said quickly.

"So we can spend an afternoon at their house!" Dewey said. "Oh, uh, I mean some other place!"

"Huh," Della said thoughtfully, pushing her food around with her fork. "I suppose that would be helpful. Alright, I'll call Mrs. B tonight and see if she's up for it."

The triplets all grinned with relief. When Della wasn't looking, they gave each other a determined nod.

_Step One of the plan: in motion._

~

As Della called Mrs. B that night and explained the situation to her, the triplets locked themselves in their room and drew out the piece of cardboard again.

Dewey thumbtacked another notecard to the cardboard. "Step One: get Mom to let us hang out with Webby and Mrs. B. Done." He added a gold star to the notecard. "At least, we hope so."

Louie held up another notecard. "So Step Two?"

"Step Two is to tell Webby our plan and keep it secret from Mrs. B."

Louie nodded and wrote that down.

"Step Three?" Huey prompted.

"Step Three is snooping around McDuck Enterprises under the watchful eye of Mrs. B - or not, we'll see how it plays out - and see if we can gather any clues." Dewey grabbed another notecard. "And Step Four . . ."

Louie attached his notecard to the cardboard with another thumbtack. "Do you think the head scientist there will have any clues?" he mused.

"Who?" Huey tilted his head.

"You know, Fenton Crackshell-Cabrera. He's been there for - _oh!"_ Louie's eyes grew wide. "I've got it!"

Dewey and Huey looked up with surprised expressions.

"Scrooge McDuck asked Gizmoduck to protect Duckburg, right?" Louie said excitedly. "What if Dr. Crackshell -"

"- is the one who invented the suit!" Dewey's eyes widened. "You're onto something! So Step Four -"

"- is to ask him _about_ the suit!" Huey finished triumphantly.

"That's it!" the triplets cried in unison.

"We might be closer than we thought!" Louie beamed. They'd get to ask Dr. Crackshell a _question,_ too -

"So then what do we do after asking Dr. Crackshell about the suit?" Huey tapped his chin with his pen.

"Play it off by ear," said Dewey. "We'll see what clues we can get from him first and _then_ try to figure out Gizmoduck's alter ego from there."

Seeing that all their current notecards with the steps to the scheme had been thumbtacked onto the cardboard, he wound red thread around the thumbtacks, tying it on the last thumbtack - a lone one, just stuck in the middle of the board. Underneath the last thumbtack, Dewey scribbled _find out Gizmoduck's identity!_

He scooted back, admiring his handiwork.

Then he turned to his brothers with an excited grin. "Phase One of the scheme: complete!"


	4. The Gizmoduck Expedition (Part 2)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Webby and the triplets pay Fenton's underwater lab a visit and get further into the scheme.

Webby still wasn’t quite used to the mansion . . . even after spending several days in it. It was too quiet, for one thing, and she’d been in this universe for a week - a  _ week _ and she was no closer to getting back home than she had been when she’d woken up here.

So she was incredibly surprised when, after breakfast, Mrs. B explained their day to her.

Seated in one of the living rooms, Webby listened with wide eyes and an excited feeling that steadily rose - Della wanted the triplets out of her hair, so she had asked Mrs. B and Webby to take them out for the day!

Not long after the two climbed into the car and drove downtown, straight to the harbors of Duckburg, where the houseboat lived. Webby could hardly believe it - what luck! She wouldn’t have to spend another long, uneventful day in the dreary mansion - she’d get to spend  _ her _ day with her best friends!

However, as soon as the triplets had piled into the car, they were all buzzing with excitement. Partly because they wanted to see her, of course, but partly because of something else.

“Hi, guys!” Webby said cheerfully. “What’s the buzz?”

“We’re gonna find out who Gizmoduck is!” Huey burst out.

_ Gizmoduck? _ Flashbacks of Louie’s posters with that strange robotic suit immediately flew through Webby’s mind. “Oh! How?” 

“By a brilliant scheme of my own devising,” Dewey announced. 

With a glare from his brothers, he gestured to them. “And they helped, too.”

“Do you think we can get your granny to take us to McDuck Enterprises?” Louie asked. “We think that Fenton Crackshell-Cabrera invented the Gizmoduck suit, so we’re going to ask him about it.”

Suddenly Webby realized why the suit had seemed so familiar in the posters. She hadn’t remembered why until now, because that morning had been an absolute whirlwind. But now she  _ did _ know. She had seen the Gizmoduck suit in Fenton’s lab!

“I saw it there!” she exclaimed. “When I went to Gyro’s - I mean Fenton’s - lab, I saw the suit there!”

_ “Really?” _ the triplets cried in unison.

“Haha!” Huey punched the air. “We have a strong lead, gang!”

“But . . .” Louie looked a little uneasy. “I’m sure Mrs. B knows Mom doesn’t like Mr. McDuck, so . . . how are we getting there?”

“Simple.” Dewey snapped his fingers. “Webby can say that we all really want to meet this Fenton guy. We’ve pulled the triplet charm on Mrs. B once - I’m sure we can do it again.”

Huey nodded. “Reasonable. All right, Webs, you up for it?”

Webby looked back at the triplets to see three pairs of excited, shining eyes staring back up at her.

Her heart swelled.  _ Finally _ \- an adventure with her three best friends! Forget an adventure, this was a  _ mystery! _

“I’m in!” Webby declared. “Let’s solve a mystery!”

~

Somehow - and Webby wasn’t exactly sure how, but  _ somehow _ \- the triplets managed to convince her granny that they all really wanted to meet Dr. Crackshell, and don’t you know him, Mrs. B? Webby can take us, and you can come back for us later!

Mrs. B agreed, to Webby’s surprise (and the triplets’ satisfaction), and soon the car was heading downtown and to the Money Bin. She dropped the kids off at the Bin and said she needed to run some errands for Launchpad, and that she’d be back in at least an half an hour or so. And as soon as the car had sped off, the triplets turned to Webby, excited.

“Alright,” Dewey said. “Before we go inside, we’re gonna tell our plan to Webby. Ready?” 

Webby nodded. 

“Step One was to get Mom to let you and Mrs. B take us to McDuck Enterprises - without her knowing. I’d say that’s a success.”

“Step Two was to tell you about the plan,” Huey added, “which we’re doing right now.”

“Step Three is to snoop around here and see if we can get any clues,” Louie said. “But we’re probably just gonna skip that and head straight to Step Four -”

“- which is where  _ you _ come in.” Dewey pointed to Webby. “Step Four is to ask Fenton Crackshell-Cabrera about the suit, and since you’ve been here before, you can lead the way.”

“Don’t you guys know the . . . um.” Webby swallowed, her mind helpfully reminding her a second too late that these triplets did  _ not, _ in fact, know the way to Fenton’s lab. 

Her heart sank. 

“What? No, we’ve never been here before.” Dewey shrugged. “Anyway - let’s go. Webby, you lead.”

~

Leading the boys through the Bin was strange enough for Webby; how she was itching to grab Dewey and zoom over to the Archives - or, wait, would she take Huey? - but instead she bravely walked by the Archives door with much restraint. 

Some day, she told herself, she’d be able to get in there again.

Once all four were in the elevator, Webby pressed the “lower level” button with her thumb. 

“Here we go,” Dewey said, glancing at his brothers. “Ready?” 

Louie, looking thrilled, nodded and gave them a thumbs-up.

“Let’s Hue this,” Huey said excitedly.

Webby clapped a hand to her beak and suppressed a giggle. Let’s  _ Hue  _ this?

Soon the elevator shuddered to a stop and the doors slid open, revealing the familiar underwater lab that she’d been in just a few days before. Louie gave a small gasp as they all stepped into the lab, and Webby had to smile to herself. 

Then suddenly Gyro was there, standing in front of them, and Webby had to blink a few times to get used to what he looked like. “Webby!” he said, smiling. “Nice to see you. And you three are . . .?”

“Oh - these are my friends,” Webby said, pointing to each of the triplets in turn. “Huey, Dewey, and Louie. Um, do you know where Fenton - Dr. Crackshell is?”

“He’s up there.” Gyro gestured to the mountain balcony in the middle of the room. “Working on one of his projects. Why?” 

“We wanted to -” Webby began, before she was cut off by Louie

“So, real quick,” Louie interrupted, “do you work for Dr. Crackshell?”

“Yes!” Then, as quickly as he had straightened, Gyro slumped a bit. “Well, um, only as his intern. A non-paid intern.”

“But you still work for him?” Louie said in awe.

Gyro nodded.

“Cool, um - could we see him?” Dewey asked.

“Oh -” Gyro looked unsure. “I guess it wouldn’t hurt to  _ try, _ but he doesn’t like to be interrupted some of the time. Most of the time. All of the time, actually.”

“Then we’ll apologize for interrupting,” Webby said quickly, grabbing Louie’s wrist and running up the mountain balcony. “We have urgent questions!”

She hurried up the steps, the triplets hot on her heels, and nearly jumped onto the top of the balcony - there was Fenton, crouched over a counter. He scribbled something down on a notepad, his back facing the foursome, and he evidently hadn’t heard them come up the stairs or even enter the lab.

Webby coughed.

Fenton whirled around, immediately irritated. “What do you -”

His eyes fell on the triplets.

“Who are you three?” he said flatly.

“Huey, Dewey, and Louie,” Webby rushed. “We have a question for you -”

“- but Louie might have a ton more -” Dewey chimed in, gesturing to an awe-ridden Louie.

Before Huey could speak, Louie burst out with questions. “Dr. Crackshell, I’m a huge fan!” he exclaimed, his eyes big. “Did you really invent your own element? Follow-up questions: can I see it? Does it work? How did you crack the equation?”

Dewey clamped a hand over Louie’s beak, smiling widely up at Fenton. “Louie, please don’t pester the man who’s going to solve the scheme that I’ve worked so hard on for the last couple of days -”

“Scheme?” Fenton repeated.

Dewey’s smile became forced. “This is taking too long - hi, Dewey Duck here, my brother is a big fan - incaseyoucouldn’ttell -”

“Do you know anything about Gizmoduck?” Huey interrupted. 

Fenton’s eyes widened. For a moment he seemed . . . taken aback.

Louie shoved Dewey’s hand off his beak and turned back to the scientist. “Did you invent the suit? The Gizmoduck suit. Does he come in here all the time to try it on?”

Something flashed across Fenton’s expression, but it was gone in a split second. “You’re wondering if I invented the suit?”

“Have you invented anything else other than the suit?” Huey piped up. “Like that robot-thing that’s following your intern everywhere?”

“The  _ what _ that’s - no, no, hold on.” Fenton rubbed his forehead. “Where did you hear that I invented the suit?”

“Simple rumors plus logic,” Louie said. “Some people say that Gizmoduck was hired by Mr. McDuck, and we figured that  _ you _ invented the . . . suit.” 

Louie broke off, suddenly in deep thought. Webby, meanwhile, noted that with great interest - Scrooge had hired Gizmoduck? Would he - or had he already - do that in the normal universe?

_ “Yes,” _ Fenton said firmly. “I invented it. Now get  _ out _ of my -”

“So if you invented the suit, then you know who Gizmoduck is, right?” Huey prompted.

There was a beat of silence. 

“Safety reasons,” Fenton finally snapped. “I can’t tell you for  _ safety reasons. _ I’ve said this before and I’m saying it again -  _ get out of my lab.” _

“But I still have -” Louie began.

Fenton pointed towards the elevator.  _ “Out. _ All of you.”

“But, Fenton -” Webby tried.

Fenton didn’t move and kept glaring at the kids.

Webby’s shoulders sank, and she knew that getting anything more out of the scientist was out of the question. “C’mon, guys,” she said, turning around and heading for the stairs. Luckily the triplets all followed her down the stairs, past Gyro and Lil Bulb, and into the elevator.

Once they had gotten outside of the Bin, Webby faced the triplets. “I’m sorry,” she said. “I guess he’s straight to the point - that didn’t get you very far.”

“And that was the last step to my scheme.” Dewey stuck his hands into his hoodie pocket. 

“So we’re stuck,” Huey finished, sitting on the Bin’s steps.

Webby waited for Louie to add something, but when he didn’t she glanced at him. He’d started mumbling something to himself while rubbing his chin thoughtfully.

“Louie?” Dewey raised an eyebrow. “What are you -”

Louie looked up to see his brothers and Webby staring at him. He shook his head. “Dr. Crackshell’s voice sounds familiar,” he finally admitted. “But I don’t know where I’ve heard it before - I know I’ve heard it  _ somewhere.” _

“Granny won’t get back here anytime soon.” Webby plopped down on the Bin’s steps, joining Huey and letting out a sigh. “There goes our afternoon.”

Huey dug out his phone and called Mrs. B to let her know they were ready to be picked up. They hadn’t gotten anything else out of their scheme, had they? This Fenton was more stubborn than Webby had thought.

“Cheer up,” said Dewey. “We know who invented the suit now! That’s not a total loss . . . right?”

“But he wouldn’t tell us anything,” Huey said, evidently done with his phone call. “ ‘Security reasons’.”

“Maybe we could ask my granny?” Webby suggested. 

“She wouldn’t know his identity.” Dewey slumped. “It’s just a bump in the road.”

Except he didn’t sound as confident as his words were. They couldn’t give up so soon - they just couldn’t! Webby told them that, confident that it would get them back into shape, but the triplets didn’t answer her.

There went their afternoon . . .  _ and _ their chance at solving a mystery.

**~**

Louie ended up solving the scheme just a few days later.

The scheme, in question, had been put on a hiatus. They had a clue, they  _ did _ , but with no other leads at all and definitely no leads on the web, Dewey and Huey sort of . . . gave up. Louie didn’t want to - Junior Woodchucks just didn’t  _ give up, _ he’d said, but his brothers had dropped out of the Woodchucks years ago, so his speech wasn’t worth it.

At least Daisy would’ve been proud of his attitude.

That afternoon Della took the boys with her to the bank. None of the triplets had wanted to go, but as Della so helpfully reminded them, they couldn’t be trusted by themselves on the houseboat. So they all went, much to their chagrin. 

As Della talked to one of the bank tellers behind the counter, Louie glanced at his brothers.

He’d given up talking to them about the scheme, too, but with a lead like that -  _ he _ couldn’t give up! He refused to - there had to be another clue somewhere, he  _ knew _ it, down to the center of his heart. 

Suddenly the door to the bank slammed open.

Everyone jumped and glanced at the front door - three large dogs, wearing duck masks and holding sacks, stood in the doorway.

One of the dogs smirked. “This is a  _ robbery.” _

Chaos immediately unfolded; ducks and animals left and right started to panic. “Boys, get down!” Della yelled, pushing the triplets down. 

“Hand over the money!” the dog demanded. “All of it!”

The dogs moved forward, closer and closer towards the counter. Della held her arms around the triplets tightly.

Then a rope - from seemingly thin air - shot out from behind the dogs and wound itself around them tightly. Surprised, they tried to struggle against the rope, but to no avail. They had been captured.

And then . . . there he was.

_ Gizmoduck. _ Rolling into the bank, right there,  _ right in front of Louie.  _

“Not you,” the lead dog growled. “Let us go!”

Gizmoduck ignored the dogs and turned to the group of civilians. “Everyone, stay calm,” he advised. “I’ve got the Beagle Boys under control.”

“You won’t for much longer!” another dog snarled.

A glare from Gizmoduck shut the dogs up.

Louie gazed at the superhero in awe - there he was! Right there! He’d go up and ask Gizmoduck questions about his alter ego, but . . . Della wasn’t letting go of them anytime soon and he didn’t want to be obnoxious.

Gizmoduck picked up the tied dogs and hoisted them onto his shoulder. Without so much of a glance at the other civilians, he rolled out of the bank as soon as he could.

Silence. 

“You’d think he’d help clean the place up,” Dewey remarked. The bank was a bit of a mess after the dogs had showed up - velvet admission lines strewn around, everyone on the floor, not to mention a gaping hole Gizmoduck had made to enter the bank.

“Kinda straight to the point,” Huey said, getting to his feet.

Then it hit Louie.

_ Straight to the point. _

That was it.  _ That was it. _

He knew who Gizmoduck was.

“I’ve got it!” he cried, startling Della. “I know who he is!”

“You  _ do?” _ his brothers said incredulously. 

“We'll be right back, Mom! Meet us by the car!” Louie called, already starting to run out of the bank with Huey and Dewey hot on his heels. The triplets ran down a few blocks, keeping a close eye on Gizmoduck ahead of them. 

“You really know who he is?” Huey asked, panting. 

“I should’ve seen it before!” Louie said. “No  _ wonder _ I thought his voice sounded familiar - Gizmoduck! Hey!”

The triplets caught up to the superhero and stopped, panting. Gizmoduck stopped as well and turned around. “Oh,” he said, surprised. “It’s you three.”

“Yeah, hi - I have a question!” Louie’s eyes shined with excitement.

“Don’t you always?” Dewey joked, nudging Huey.

“It’ll have to be quick,” Gizmoduck said sternly. “I have very important things to -”

“You’re Dr. Crackshell, aren’t you?”

Gizmoduck’s mouth fell open.

Dewey and Huey’s eyes widened.  _ “Oh!” _ they cried in unison. 

“You’re who now?” one of the dogs piped up, still tied up with the other two in the rope.

The superhero was speechless - not a first for him, since he never said much, anyway. But after a minute or two of silence Louie took it as a  _ yes _ \- he  _ was _ Dr. Crackshell!

“I knew it!” Louie exclaimed, punching the air. “It  _ is _ you!”

“How did you find that out?” Gizmoduck hissed, leaning down away from the dogs and the rope he held in his left hand.

“Your voices were familiar.” Louie crossed his arms triumphantly. “Also you’re both straight to the point.”

“You figured it out!” Huey grinned. “Way to go.”

“You can’t tell  _ anyone _ .” Gizmoduck glared at the triplets. “Got it?”

“What about Webby?” Huey asked. “Can’t we tell her?”

“She already knew who I was,” Gizmoduck snapped. “But  _ she’s _ not supposed to tell anyone, either. I - need to go do important things.”

And with that, the superhero rolled off.

The triplets were stunned. They glanced at each other in surprise - Webby  _ knew? _ Why had she played along with them, then? Was she protecting it from them for “safety reasons” or something else entirely?

But . . . why had she asked who Gizmoduck had been, then?

“We’ll solve that mystery later,” Louie hastily said. “C’mon, we figured it out! We  _ know _ who he is now!”

“I . . . guess, yeah.” Dewey brightened.

Huey looked reluctant, but he smiled a bit, too.  _ “You _ figured it out.”

“Yeah, but -” Louie grabbed his brothers’ hands. “It was  _ our _ scheme.”

His brothers beamed.

“Let’s get back to the car before Mom worries too much,” Louie added, and then all three quickly took off.


	5. The Gizmoduck Expedition (Part 3)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The triplets know who Gizmoduck is, but the joy doesn't last long.

The triplets’ scheme had been completed and achieved - the piece of cardboard with notecards and thumbtacks lay somewhere in their room, most likely under their bunk bed and gathering dust. Dewey  _ had _ put gold stars on each of their notecards, though, so that their scheme was officially done.

Louie himself was ecstatic. How awesome was it that his favorite scientist and his favorite superhero were the  _ same person? _ And that was only known to a handful of people - including him and his brothers now!

Fenton, however, was  _ not _ ecstatic.

Webby found that out soon enough. Right after she’d had breakfast, when she had gone up to her room to stare intensely at her McDuck family research board and see if anything she hadn’t noticed _ yet _ had changed. But then someone knocked on her door, startling her from her trance.

Shaking her head to clear her thoughts, Webby hurried over to her door and opened it - there was Launchpad, looking as incredibly straight-faced and unnerving as ever.

“Dr. Crackshell is here to see you,” Launchpad reported.

Webby blinked. “Me?” 

Launchpad shrugged. “That’s what he said. He’s waiting in the foyer.”

Webby made her way to the foyer, wondering what on earth Fenton could want from her - maybe the boys were successful in their Gizmoduck quest and Fenton knew, too? And he was coming to tell her? Or maybe he’d realized this wasn’t the right universe after all and why was he here, acting like Gyro when he  _ should _ be acting like Fenton?

She found him in the foyer a few minutes later, just like Launchpad had said, looking annoyed. And impatient.

Webby swallowed and walked over to him.

“Webby!  _ There _ you are.” Fenton crossed his arms, frowning.

Webby smiled. “Good morning, Fenton!” She winced. “Dr. Crackshell . . .?”

But Fenton didn’t notice. “Webby, would you mind telling me why your  _ friends _ discovered who I am?”

“My . . . friends?” 

“Those color-coordinated ducklings you brought to my lab,” he said. “Convenient you  _ forgot  _ to mention their last name, too. Mr. McDuck isn’t here, is he?”

Webby shrugged. “I haven’t seen him all morning.”  _ I haven’t seen him all week. _

“Good. Now  _ why _ did you bring her SONS into my lab?” Fenton demanded.

Webby’s eyes widened.

Oh.

He meant  _ Della. _

“They . . . um.” Webby wrung her hands. “We thought - we thought you invented the Gizmoduck suit, so they -”

“Yes, of course I did. Why wouldn’t I?” Fenton snorted, sounding incredulous. “I wouldn’t trust anyone else to make my suit.”

The realization of his words sunk into Webby just a second later.

Her jaw dropped.  _ “You’re Gizmoduck?” _

“Of course I am. You already knew that - Webby, listen.” Fenton faced her, making eye contact with the duckling. “You know who their mother is.”

Fenton was Gizmoduck _._ _That_ was a twist. “Um, I guess so?”

“And you brought them into  _ my _ lab. A lab that belongs to  _ Scrooge McDuck.” _

“They just wanted to ask you some questions -” Webby began.

“No one’s supposed to  _ know  _ I’m Gizmoduck!” Fenton snapped. “Except for you, and Mrs. Beakley, and Launchpad, and a handful of other people. The green one even revealed it to the  _ Beagle Boys _ and probably everyone else on that street!”

Webby closed her beak, blinking in astonishment.  _ Oh _ \- only a few people were supposed to know who Gizmoduck was? Including her? And she had brought the triplets into the lab . . . 

She suddenly realized that Scrooge finding out she was friends with the triplets was a  _ way _ bigger deal than she thought.

“I’m - very sorry?” Webby tried. “But if you’ll excuse me, I, um, have . . . exciting school to get to. Very exciting. Mhmm.” She nodded and then quickly started pushing Fenton out of the mansion. “You know, fractions and algebra and all that. Probably the history of Duckburg. See you soon!”

As soon as she shoved Fenton out of the doorway, Webby threw the door shut with a  _ slam. _ She dusted off her hands and headed back to the stairs to stare at her research board again. 

Launchpad stopped her on her tracks, poking his head into the foyer. “What did Dr. Crackshell want with you?”

“Oh, nothing,” Webby said casually, starting up the stairs. “Gizmoduck stuff.” She thought for a minute, then shrugged. “Nothing important.”

When Launchpad wasn’t looking, however, she ran up the stairs as fast as she could.

~

Knowing Gizmoduck’s alter ego was  _ exciting. _ Seeing the superhero out in the city was fun and new now to Louie, and he always made sure to wave and say “Hi, Gizmoduck!” Della might’ve thought it was strange, but she didn’t question it. 

After all, Louie  _ had _ been a fan of Gizmoduck for quite some time.

Another Junior Woodchuck meeting (they happened every other week) came and went, and Louie’s latest assignment was to visit a local park and find species - flowers, bugs, etc. - and label them. Della thought it would be excellent if Huey and Dewey went along as well, so all three triplets found themselves sitting in the park on a nice Wednesday afternoon.

“Are you done yet, Louie?” Huey sat up from lying in the grass. “This grass is getting itchy.”

Louie frowned, looking up from studying a tree. “Then just move to the bench.” 

“Dewey took up the whole bench,” Huey informed.

Louie rolled his eyes and went back to the tree. “Acer saccharum,” he muttered, marking something in his Junior Woodchuck guidebook. “Can grow to one hundred and thirty feet tall and can live for three hundred years -”

“The acer  _ what now?” _ Dewey gave Louie a strange look from his bench. “What kind of super tree is  _ that?” _

“- and also commonly known as the  _ sugar maple tree,” _ Louie continued loudly. “Also known as the trees you get syrup from.”

“They live up to three hundred years?” Huey waved that away. “I bet I can beat that.”

“What? No,  _ our  _ normal lifespan is close to only a hundred years -”

“So? Who says we can’t find a youth fountain or something?” Huey grinned. “I take it as a challenge!”

“I gotta stress, Hue, that is  _ not _ a challenge,” Louie insisted. “Trees just live longer than us.”

“Says who?”

“Says the _ Junior Woodchuck Guidebook -” _

“Oh, how convenient!” Dewey said loudly, causing both his brothers to look up in confusion. “Is that  _ Gizmoduck  _ I see?”

Indeed it was - Louie glanced in the direction Dewey pointed in and his heart leapt. Gizmoduck! In the park square, surrounded by a crowd of people! This Junior Woodchuck assignment could wait; they only met every other week  _ anyway _ and it wasn’t like school, where you’d get a grade on late assignments. 

Maybe Gizmoduck could help him on the JW assignment! 

“I’m gonna go see if Gizmoduck’s willing to help me on this,” Louie said. “You coming?”

“Better than this.” Huey jumped to his feet.

Dewey stood up, too, and joined his brothers. “What he said.”

The crowd of people turned out to be what looked like many press reporters all gathered on the park square, as well as other passerbys or civilians. The triplets ran through the crowd, accidentally pushing - or in Dewey’s case, purposely pushing - people out of their way to reach Gizmoduck. Gizmoduck who, a few feet away from the crowd, was about to roll up to a podium that had been placed at the edge of the park square.

“Gizmoduck!” Louie called, halting before the superhero and excitedly waving. “Hi!”

Gizmoduck’s gaze dropped to Louie.

“Oh,” was all he said. “It’s you. Three.”

“I have a question, Mr. Gizmoduck!” Louie showed him his Junior Woodchuck Guidebook. “See, I’m in the Junior Woodchucks. We’re doing an assignment where I have to identify and label different plants and trees and stuff. And since you’re a scientist -”

Gizmoduck glared at Louie.

“- I figured you could help?” Louie smiled up at the superhero, shoving his guidebook under his hat. “Do you have a moment?”

“I’m a busy superhero,” Gizmoduck said sternly, “and I’m about to do something important, so I don’t exactly have a lot of time.”

“Ooh, what are you doing?” Huey piped up, striking a pose. “Are you preventing a robbery? Which one - let me guess. Jewelry store?  _ Nailed it.” _

Gizmoduck gestured to the crowd of people. “Press conference.”

There was a pause.

“. . . press conference?” Louie looked confused. “But . . . what about robberies? Or villains? Or -”

“The police squad is here for a reason,” Gizmoduck interrupted. “I can’t do everything at once.”

“- or doing good deeds or planting trees -” Louie swallowed. He glanced at the crowd behind him. “A  _ press _ conference?” 

“I’m sure you’ve seen the newspapers, right? They like to do an article on me every once in a while.” 

“We’re kids, we don’t read the newspapers!” Dewey argued.

“But - but you show up in the paper for your scientific discoveries  _ anyway!” _ Louie burst out. “This is just a  _ press conference! _ You could be doing so much more - like helping me on my Junior Woodchuck assignment! Something  _ nature related! _ Not some popularity-thing to boost your stupid ego!”

Gizmoduck froze.

Louie stepped up so close to the suit that his beak nearly touched it. “I was wrong about you,” he said. “You’re not a superhero. You’re a  _ sell-out.” _

Tension, thick and heavy, hung in the air. Louie turned around and crossed his arms, adding, “You’re just some guy in a robotic suit who wants popularity because the richest duck in the world asked you to be a hero.” 

There was a beat of silence. 

Gizmoduck stared at Louie, startled. “No, that’s not -”

“Let’s get out of here,” Louie muttered to his brothers, and wordlessly the triplets left the park square,

~

Dewey found Louie in their bedroom later that afternoon, kneeling down on his bed. Placing an empty box beside him.

Tearing down all of his Gizmoduck posters.

“Woah, hey.” Dewey joined his brother on his bed. “What are you doing?”

“What does it look like I’m doing?” Louie ripped another poster off the wall and put it in the box.

“Getting rid of your Gizmoduck posters - look, man, you don’t have to get  _ rid  _ of all of these.” Dewey grabbed a poster out of Louie’s hands before the latter could put it in the box. “You love this one!” 

“I  _ loved _ it,” Louie muttered. 

Dewey was silent, watching Louie place another poster on the stack.

Louie reached up to tear another poster off, but he stopped. Then he sighed. “I thought being a hero was about saving people and saving the world. Protecting all of that. But . . .” He rubbed his arms. “That’s not what he turned out to be.”

“Hey, he’s not the only hero in Duckburg,” Dewey pointed out. “What about Scrooge McDuck? Or that purple one? They saved Duckburg a lot, right?”

“I dunno.” Louie shrugged half-heartedly. “I haven’t put much thought into them.”

“Look, things just happen,” Dewey said, putting the poster he held on the blankets besides him. “Sometimes you get skateboarding banned from the house, and other times your two role models turn out to be one person who disappoints you.”

Louie smiled. “You know that’s a terrible analogy, right?” 

“Shh.” Dewey grinned. “My point is - Gizmoduck’s not who you thought he was. So what? You don’t have to throw these away.”

“I wasn’t going to throw them away anyway,” Louie said. “Just donate them or put them in storage.” He paused and glanced at the poster he’d been about to take down. 

Then he reached up and slowly removed it from the wall.

“And I won’t do anything with this one,” he decided, staring at the poster. “But it’s not going on my wall.”

“Fair enough.” Dewey slid off Louie’s bed and got to his feet. “Now let’s pretend this pep talk never happened.”

“Deal.” Louie closed the box of posters and taped it shut. Grabbing a marker, he wrote  _ Gizmoduck posters _ on it and shoved it back a little. “Let’s pretend this scheme never happened.”

Dewey, about to walk out of the bedroom, paused. “Do you think Webby really knew who Gizmoduck was? All this time?”

Louie hesitated. 

“If she did -” He thought for a moment. “- then I’m assuming it was for a good reason. Webby never keeps anything from us, anyway.”

Dewey shrugged. “I guess so.”

But neither triplet was exactly sure about that, and Dewey left their bedroom in silence.

~

The box of Gizmoduck posters ended up being shoved to the back of the triplets’ closet. The other poster was rolled up and placed in one of Louie’s desk drawers. And if Della noticed something about the lack of Louie obsessing over the robotic-suited superhero, she didn’t say anything.


	6. Friendship Loves Darkwing Duck

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Launchpad and Mrs. B spend the evening together and end up watching Launchpad's favorite childhood TV show.

Launchpad was surprised, more than anything, when he discovered Webby trying to sneak out of the mansion that night.

He didn’t ever think he’d catch Webby \- _Webby,_ of all people, the most obedient child he knew - attempting to leave the mansion without anyone noticing. Without telling _anyone._ And most of the time she talked Launchpad’s ear off about everything and anything that happened to her so far.

She’d  _ tried _ to be subtle, he had to give her that;  _ he _ had been passing through the foyer and hadn’t even noticed she was in there, too, until the very last second, when Launchpad heard her bump into a table with a small vase. The vase toppled over, but Webby caught it at the last minute and placed it back onto the table.

Launchpad cleared his throat. 

Webby whirled around, a smile plastered on her face. She gripped the straps of her backpack tightly. “I’m not doing anything!”

“Mhmm.” Launchpad stared pointedly at her backpack. “You very obviously don’t have a backpack on, then.”

“I, um -” Webby swallowed. “- I’m going to take a walk?” Another nervous smile.

He raised an eyebrow.

She sighed. “You’re not buying that.”

“Not really. What  _ are _ you doing, Webby?”

There was a beat of silence.

“I’m . . . going to see a friend,” Webby admitted. “More like - more like  _ try _ to find her. Because I don’t know if I can. But please, Launchpad, I never get out that much anyway and I’ll be back before bedtime, I promise!”

“What did your grandmother say?”

“She said it was fine!” Webby insisted. 

“The  _ walk _ part,” said Launchpad, “or the  _ friend  _ part?”

“The, um, walk part - but she’d understand!” Webby cried. “She needs friends - I need friends! We’re not like you or Scrooge - I mean Mr. McDuck -”

Launchpad froze.

“ _ What?  _ I -” He hesitated. “- have friends -”

“Hahaha, yeah, I’m - sure you do.” Webby opened the front door and slipped outside. “I’ll be back before nine!”

“Webby!” Launchpad demanded, making for the door. “Name  _ one _ person I don’t get along with!”

“Hey, LP!” Mrs. B stuck her head into the foyer from one of the living rooms, hearing the commotion in the front hall. “Oh, did Webby leave already? She said something about going on a walk - sounds rather nice, actually, I might go for a -”

_ Mrs. B! _ Launchpad could ask her if she’d noticed that Webby was acting a little  _ more _ than strange lately. Surely he’d get some answers.

“Beakley,” he started, joining her by the doorway, “how have you and Webby been lately?”

“Oh, perfectly nice.” Mrs. B nodded. “In fact, I was thinking about taking the Sunchaser out for a plane ride. Would you like to come with?”

On  _ that _ plane? Launchpad wasn’t sure how old the plane was, but it would’ve seemed old when  _ he  _ was a kid. “I’m good, thanks. Have - you noticed Webby?”

“. . . every day?” Mrs. B looked puzzled. 

Launchpad frowned. “No, I mean how she’s acting. Don’t you think it’s strange?”

“She’s become a little quiet, but I’m sure she’ll come back to her old self soon enough. Maybe she will after her walk.”

“But that doesn’t make sense.” Launchpad’s brow furrowed. “She’s been out of the mansion a lot this past week -” 

“Come on, LP.” Mrs. B gave him a reassuring smile. “I appreciate that you’re worried, but she’s fine. I know my granddaughter best, after all.”

He . . . guessed so, but Webby hadn’t talked his ear off for at least a couple weeks now. 

Something sparked in his mind.

She hadn’t had a long and lengthy conversation with him since - since the Agent 22 fiasco. When he’d had to stay with Webby in the mansion for an entire day, just them. But that was most days, too, and it didn’t make much sense to him.

This was more confusing than he’d thought.

Mrs. B seemed to notice that Launchpad looked just as lost as he felt and she shrugged the whole conundrum off. “Well, I suppose we’re stuck together for the evening,” she noted, glancing around the mansion. (Obviously Webby was off on her walk, but Scrooge was out for the evening as well.) Mrs. B grinned. “Why don’t we hang out tonight?”

Launchpad paused.

“Together?” he said, after a few seconds.

“Sure!” Mrs. B said cheerfully. “Here, we could both make dinner and then eat it together in the, I dunno, kitchen or something and just talk! How ‘bout it?”

Normally Launchpad would refuse - politely, of course - but the Webby thing had his brain in a mush and the idea of hanging out with someone actually . . . sounded like a nice way to spend the evening.

(And, of course, it wouldn’t hurt to  _ try _ to be friends with Mrs. B.)

So he simply said, “Alright, I accept.”

“So formal,” Mrs. B teased, nudging him. “C’mon, let’s go to the kitchen!”

~

Launchpad figured an easy meal to make was just plain spaghetti and sauce- so he told this to Mrs. B, and the two immediately set off finding ingredients around the kitchen. 

It turned out Mrs. B really had no idea where anything -  _ anything _ \- actually  _ was _ in the kitchen. Launchpad tasked her with trying to find a nice big pot and it took her several minutes just to find the cupboard with the pots and pans. And then it was several minutes after that while Mrs. B tried to wrestle the pot  _ out _ of the cupboard, and she ended up flying backwards when she tugged it free at last.

Launchpad held back a sigh and took the pot from her.

Mrs. B popped up, watching him turn on the faucet and fill the pot up with water. “So what next?”

“Boil the water,” Launchpad said, and he placed the pot on the stove and turned said stove on. “And, here, put a tablespoon of salt in it.” He handed her a jar of salt and a tiny tablespoon.

Mrs. B squinted at the tablespoon as Launchpad turned around to rummage in more cupboards. She set the tablespoon down on the table, opened a drawer, and took out a normal-sized spoon. And filled it with salt. And poured  _ that _ into the water instead.

When Launchpad faced Mrs. B again - this time holding cans of tomato paste for sauce - he caught her pouring nearly the  _ whole jar _ of salt into the water.

“Wait, stop!” he cried, throwing the cans onto the table and snatching the jar from Mrs. B’s hands. “I said one  _ tablespoon, _ not the entire jar! How much salt did you -”

“The tablespoon was  _ tiny,” _ Mrs. B pointed out.

The jar was at least two-thirds empty. Launchpad rubbed his forehead in exasperation and set the jar on the counter, beside the sink. “That’s fine, it’s fine, everything’s fine. Just - pour out the water and start over.”

Mrs. B did just that - she took the pot and poured its salty, splashing contents down the drain. She filled it with more cold water, set it back on the stove, and almost added more salt to it before Launchpad stopped her and gave her a smaller pot instead.

“Here,” he said. “Make the sauce.  _ I’ll _ make the spaghetti.”

And then everything was fine - he even gave Mrs. B a recipe, but he wasn’t entirely sure she could even read at this point - and soon the two were quietly making dinner together. 

After a few long moments of silence, he remembered half the reason he’d agreed to her idea - trying to establish a bond of friendship between them. He figured that he should get to know her better - through conversation - but what did she like?  _ Besides _ crashing planes and ruining spaghetti before it was even made?

“So, Beakley -” Launchpad paused. “Read any good books lately?”

Mrs. B shrugged, stirring the tomato sauce with a wooden spoon. “I’m not a book person, per se.” 

“Oh, um -” He thought for a moment, then brightened. “How about your plane? You’re a pilot! What are your thoughts on the sort of engines you use?”

“I  _ am _ a pilot!” Mrs. B said, grinning. “I use the same kind of engines every plane has, I suppose. They keep the plane running, you know.”

There was a pause.

Launchpad let out a tired sigh. “Nevermind.” 

“What about you?” Mrs. B urged. “Have you ever flown a plane before?”

“A couple times,” he admitted. “But it’s, er, not my strong suit.”

They went back to cooking in silence. Launchpad’s mind started to wander as he stirred the spaghetti - he really did hope Webby was alright. What sort of  _ friend _ was she off to see, anyway? Or “try to find”, as she had put it - what had that meant? That phrase was just as strange as Webby herself.

At some point he dug out a fork, took one strand of pasta from the pot, and tasted it. Satisfied, Launchpad poured the pasta into a strainer in the sink and let it cool down.

Then the smell of smoke reached his nose.

Alarmed, he immediately turned around, hoping that Mrs. B wasn’t doing anything drastic to the sauce.

The sauce. Oh, the  _ sauce, _ which was.

Going up.

In FLAMES.

The smoke alarms started going off. Launchpad’s jaw dropped; how on  _ earth _ \- 

_ “How did you set FIRE to the SAUCE?” _ he shouted over the alarms. 

_ “I don’t know!” _ Mrs. B shouted back, looking around wildly - before grabbing the fire extinguisher. Within moments the entire stove  _ and _ the sauce was covered in the fluffy white substance, the fire was put out in seconds, and the fire alarms mercifully stopped beeping.

Panting heavily, Mrs. B lowered the fire extinguisher and grinned. “Good news - the fire’s out.”

“But the  _ dinner  _ is ruined.” Scowling, Launchpad pushed open one of the windows to air out the room. “Quick, open the other window.” 

Mrs. B put the fire extinguisher back where it was, ran over to the other window, and pushed that one open. But in the process of shoving it open, her elbow hit the jar of salt by the sink. And the jar, with  _ no _ lid, toppled over and covered the rest of the noodles - those saved noodles, the only thing left of their dinner - in salt. 

In  _ piles  _ of salt. 

Launchpad suppressed the urge to scream.

With a frustrated groan, he took the strainer full of pasta and dumped all the noodles into the trash. Along with whatever remained of the sauce, which he had to scrape out with the wooden spoon. 

And, on second thought, he threw the spoon in the trash, too.

The two spent the rest of the hour (and several minutes of the next) cleaning up from the fire extinguisher. When everything had been wiped down multiple times and the floor swept, Launchpad finally allowed himself to breath and think of something else.

Salad, he decided. They could make salad. There was no way in the history of all things that she could possibly mess up a  _ salad. _

“Lettuce,” he instructed. “And carrots. And whatever else you put in a salad.”

Mrs. B saluted him and started rummaging through the fridge. And she threw a head of lettuce, two carrots, salad dressings, and croutons on the table, and for once Launchpad was surprised - those were actually things that went in salads. Hopefully this meant the salad wouldn’t be ruined, too.

So he got out a cutting board and a knife and began chopping up the vegetables. They all went into a bowl, and he tasked Mrs. B with putting whatever dressing she wanted on the salad. She took this task with a little  _ too _ much enthusiasm - to Launchpad’s skepticism - but he let it slide and turned around to find plates and silverware. 

As it turned out, Mrs. B hadn’t picked just one dressing. 

She’d picked several. 

And combined, it was the sourest, sweetest  _ (saltiest??) _ salad Launchpad had ever tasted. One bite had him questioning why on earth he thought Mrs. B couldn’t mess up salad, because she very obviously just had.

Mrs. B thought so, too. She put a forkful of salad in her mouth, made a face, and uncomfortably swallowed her bite. And then immediately drank an entire glass of water. 

“Blegh” was all she said. 

Launchpad didn’t say anything.

This had been a disaster. A complete  _ disaster _ . From salty water and salty noodles to salty salad - Launchpad almost never wanted to taste salt again. Not to mention they’d wasted nearly a whole box of spaghetti  _ and _ a jar of salt. And their conversation - what had that even  _ been, _ anyway? Every conversation he’d had that night with Mrs. B had gone quickly downhill. With a sigh, he rubbed a hand over his face and the top of his beak. 

“That’s it, then,” he said finally.

Mrs. B raised her eyebrows. “What’s it?”

Launchpad gestured vaguely to the pilot. “You fly planes and I cook, and we aren’t great at doing the other.” He slumped. “I don’t know why I thought this would be a good idea. We have nothing in co -”

“Y’know, LP, I’ve been meaning to ask you,” Mrs. B interrupted, and she pointed over his shoulder. “But what’s that?”

Launchpad paused. He followed her pointing finger past his shoulder, by the sink, and behind him completely - to the figurine on the windowsill.

His heart dropped.

“It’s kinda always . . . been there. And I don’t know what it’s from.” Mrs. B rubbed her chin, frowning. “It’s yours, isn’t it?”

Launchpad stared at the figurine. The figurine, with its big floppy hat and its dramatic pose and its outstretched purple cape. Purple everything, really. 

With much effort, he took a deep breath and faced Mrs. B.

“Oh, that’s nothing.” He waved that away, eager to change the topic. “Just something from - a show I used to watch as a kid.”

He expected Mrs. B to drop it right there, shrug it off, and then do something else. 

But she didn’t. Instead, she looked all the more intrigued. “What show is it?”

“You’ve probably never heard of it,” Launchpad insisted. 

“Aw, c’mon!” Mrs. B begged, grinning. “It looks cool! Purple’s my favorite color, you know - it’s one of Webby’s, too!”

Surprised, Launchpad stared at his co-worker. She - really wanted to know what it was? Really and truly? He almost refused to tell her . . . but, he thought, how fun would it be to get her into it and finally have someone else to discuss it with him? Even Webby had never been this curious . . . 

“Well, you see -” He hesitated. “It’s from this show.  _ Darkwing Duck.” _

Any second, now. Mrs. B was instantly going to recognize it.

She didn’t. 

“What’s it about?” she pressed. “A superhero? It looks like a superhero. Does he fight crime, like Fenton?”

Oh. She really  _ was  _ intrigued. 

“Yes,” Launchpad said, surprised. And he steadily grew more and more animated as he explained what it was. “It’s about a superhero - who gets back up no matter what and fights for what’s right. There’s all these supervillains, too, and -”

“What’s his superpower?” Mrs. B asked.

“Superpower?” Launchpad paused. “He doesn’t have one.”

Mrs. B blinked. “He . . . doesn’t have a superpower?” 

“No, that’s the beauty of it!” he explained. “Instead he has smoke bombs and a gas gun and a monologue that changes every time he says it -”

“A sidekick?”

“No, he’s sort of like Gizmoduck -”

“A cool car or motorcycle?”

“A motorcycle! And sometimes a plane.”

_ “A plane?”  _ Mrs. B stood up and slammed her hands on the table. “Well, now I have to watch it! _ Please _ tell me you have at least some of the episodes with you here.”

_ “Do I?” _ Launchpad almost snorted. “I taped all of them years ago. I’m sure they’re somewhere in my room.”

“Haha!” Mrs. B shouted, triumphant. “Perfect! Let’s order a pizza instead and watch it all! Or some of it, at least, before Webby and Mr. McD get back!” For good measure, she grabbed the salad bowl and dumped the salad in the trash. “And enough of this salad.”

Launchpad’s beak broke into a grin. 

He should’ve brought Darkwing Duck up sooner; this evening was turning out  _ way _ better than he had expected.

~

Fortune favors the good, apparently - Launchpad hadn’t touched his old tapes in years, yet he quickly found them in a box shoved away in his closet. He grinned, the nostalgia already coming back to him in almost full-force. 

Clutching the box, he made his way downstairs to find Mrs. B hanging up the phone from ordering the pizza. He gestured to the box.

Mrs. B’s eyes lit up. 

“Should we wait for the pizza, or -” Launchpad began, before he was almost immediately cut off by the pilot.

“Let’s start it!” she exclaimed, peering inside the box. “Which living room? Nevermind, we’ll do the one closest to the kitchen. C’mon!”

Once inside the living room, Launchpad tried to organize the tapes in the order they went in, shuffling them and placing them in every possible combination - and when he was sure he’d gotten it right, he slid the first tape into the TV and pressed play.

By the second episode, Mrs. B was already heavily invested in it.

By the fourth episode, Launchpad was getting back into it, too. (There was quite a lot of excited commentary from both of them at that point.)

By the fifth episode, the pizza had finally arrived, so the episode was put on pause while Launchpad went to grab the pizza.

By the seventh episode, Mrs. B had somehow already memorized the theme song and she and Launchpad sang it together every episode after that.

And by the middle of the eighth episode, Webby burst into the living room with an extra boost to her step and a wide grin, excitedly saying something about how she had a new friend, Granny! And her name was  _ so cool  _ and they’d be meeting at the library tomorrow morning and where was the friendship bracelet yarn? 

Mrs. B paused the episode and grinned back. “How nice, Webby dear! This Violet girl sounds exciting - do you need a ride to the library tomorrow?”

“Nope!” Webby chirped. “I wanna walk there! Oh, hey -” She leaned over the back of the couch, staring at the TV screen. “What are you watching?”

_ “Darkwing Duck,” _ Mrs. B prompted, her eyes shining. “LP introduced it to me! It’s about a superhero who wears all purple -”

“And he has great catchphrases,” Launchpad added.

“Oh, yes, and catchphrases! Like ‘Let’s get dangerous!’ and ‘I am the terror that flaps in the night’, and . . .”

“Oh!” Webby’s eyes lit up. “I remember Launchpad telling me about that -”

“You . . . do?” Launchpad asked, confused.

Webby glanced up.

“Oh, no, um -” Webby smiled awkwardly and tried to shrug it off. “I, uh, must have heard you mention it before. Something like that. Anyway I need to go find the friendship bracelet yarn!” she declared, and she zoomed out of the room.

“I don’t think I told her about it,” Launchpad said under his breath, turning back to the TV. 

“See, LP? Webby’s back to her normal self.” With a smile, Mrs. B started up the episode again. “Guess she just needed a new friend.”

~

They decided the twelfth episode would be their last episode for the night, much to Mrs. B’s disappointment, but it was nearly eleven o’clock by the time they stopped. Webby was surely in bed by that point and Scrooge had been back home for a few hours.

“We could make this a weekly thing,” Launchpad suggested, putting his tapes away in order. “Or whenever we feel like it. I haven’t seen this for a while.”

Mrs. B tapped her chin thoughtfully. “So the actor did all his own stunts?”

“Drake Mallard?” Launchpad asked, confused. With a nod from Mrs. B, he went on. “Oh, yes. He got a little banged-up in later seasons, but it makes him all the more heroic.” He grabbed the box and got to his feet. “In my opinion.”

“Oh, hey!” Mrs. B lit up. “Webby’ll be out for a couple hours tomorrow, isn’t she? Why can’t we watch a few more episodes then?”

“Oh,” Launchpad said, surprised. He thought for a moment. “Actually, that’s . . . a good idea. Let’s plan for that.”

Mrs. B grinned.

“Oh, by the way,” she added, as they both walked out of the room, “do you know where I can get an action figure? Like the one in the kitchen? I want one for my plane!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> we're FINALLY getting SOMEWHERE with this complicated Darkwing plot I've got planned XD


	7. Shades of Violet (Part 1)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Webby goes searching for an old friend, but she bumps into someone new.

“Hahaha, yeah, I’m - sure you do - I’ll be back before nine!”

Webby darted out of the mansion and shoved the door shut before Launchpad could lecture her on how he  _ did _ have friends, thank you very much, and would she  _ please _ get right back here this instant? But Webby didn’t dare look back as she scurried down the front steps, her heart pumping with adrenaline.

She had  _ snuck out _ . Without even  _ telling someone. _ Guilt was already starting to creep up inside of her, but she tried to shake it off - this was for a good cause, she told herself. She was  _ technically _ going out to see some friends, and at the very most Launchpad would talk to her sternly afterwards. 

Besides, she had a mission. No, she had a  _ quest. _

That quest was trying to find Lena, and Lena would help her get back home.

Well . . . truth to be told, Webby wasn’t entirely sure if Lena even knew  _ how _ to get her back home. But that was fine, she reasoned, because just seeing her best friend in the whole world would be a welcome sight if anything. 

She pushed the gates to the mansion open, slipped outside, and then quickly closed them. With a reassuring deep breath, she gripped her backpack straps tighter and focused on the street in front of her. 

The sun sank lower with each passing minute, and the street lamps that were scattered sporadically through the streets of Duckburg slowly flickered on. Webby wondered if it was all automated and old light systems, or if Fenton and Gyro had something to do with the system. She’d have to ask them.

If Fenton wasn’t mad at her, of course. She hadn’t  _ known  _ he was Gizmoduck - even though she was apparently supposed to . . . she suppressed an irritated groan. Gah, this was frustrating! 

Webby exhaled slowly, relaxing her uptight shoulders. What were some  _ positive  _ things she’d discovered here? 

Well, at least she was still friends with the triplets. Maybe not as close as she was in her universe, but it could be a lot worse . . . she could’ve never met them at all here. 

And apparently she had a good bond with Launchpad? The amount of times he’d asked if she was alright lately was nice, she guessed, but he’d look at her worriedly and then leave her alone. She didn’t need someone thinking she was suspicious in this universe.

Oh, and Della! Della was here in this universe! The boys had their mom, too, and  _ that _ was certainly good . . . even though Donald wasn’t here and Della wouldn’t talk to Scrooge and none of them lived in the mansion and Webbigail Vanderquack these were  _ not _ positive things, stay on track - 

_ Okay, okay, back to positive things.  _ Her granny was a lot more upbeat and cheerful . . . she supposed that was good, too, because they had the same amount of energy all the time, right? Maybe?

She rounded a street corner and found herself still blocks away from the Money Bin. 

With a frustrated sigh, Webby rubbed her face. She should’ve just asked Launchpad to give her a ride over to the beach. 

Or, no, that’d be her granny. 

Great, now she couldn’t even keep everyone’s jobs here straight. Launchpad was the housekeeper and Mrs. B was the crazy driver. That was right. 

She reluctantly adjusted her backpack straps, fished out her flashlight (for when it got dark, because it would definitely soon), and continued her quest to find Lena.

~

The sun had almost set indefinitely by the time Webby reached the beach, and she had flicked her flashlight on several minutes ago. The beach, in question, was very still - the waves lapped onto the sandy shore gently, and a cool breeze swept through the almost-humid night. 

Webby stopped and glanced around for a bit.

This was it. The spot where the triplets in  _ her _ universe had gone off on their triplet adventure with their hot dog life vests and Captain Lost inside jokes, and where Webby had decided to stay behind. The spot where she had found glass bottles with notes inside of them, just like the ones washing onto the shore - 

Wait. 

Webby’s heart lurched. Glass bottles with rolled up notes were  _ washing onto the shore. _

“Lena!” Webby cried, running into the ocean and ignoring the glass bottles. There was a trail of them, just like she had expected; she barely felt the cold water swimming just below her knees and instead splashed her way up the trail of bottles. 

When she caught sight of the familiar broken-down amphitheater, Webby almost shouted in joy. It was still here! And Lena would be, too! She might be able to get back home after all!

But when she hopped onto the stones in the water, the ones that led to the amphitheater . . . Lena wasn’t sitting by the edge.

No one was. Instead the spot was surrounded by scraps of paper and pencils shaved down to half their size and empty green glass bottles, secured with a cork. 

Webby panted, shining her flashlight at the empty spot. When Lena didn’t magically appear, like she’d . . . sorta been hoping, Webby climbed onto the amphitheater and slowly made her way to the center. 

“Lena?” she called. “Lena, it’s me, Webby!”

Silence. 

Webby peered behind a decorative column. “Lena?” 

She checked behind one of the big chipped-off walls. Lena wasn’t there, either.

And she definitely wasn’t hiding in the rows of old and weathered stone bleachers; Webby made sure to shine her flashlight over all of it from the amphitheater, but there still wasn’t - 

“Who’s Lena?”

Webby dropped her flashlight in surprise and yelped, startled. Immediately going into a fighting stance, she whirled around, ready for anyone and anything and who was  _ that? _

There was someone in the shadows. Webby squinted; she couldn’t make them out. So, quick as a flash, she snatched up her flashlight and blazed the light at the shadows . . . right at a bird.

Who wasn’t Lena.

Sure, she was  _ dressed _ like Lena - she had a gray-striped shirt like Lena, sneakers like Lena, dyed bangs like Lena - but her collared undershirt was green, and her sneakers were blue, and her feathers lavender and her dark purple hair dyed a plum color. 

She was very obviously not Lena. 

The bird squinted against Webby’s flashlight, frowning. 

“You’re not Lena,” was all Webby managed to say.

“Who’s Lena?” the bird repeated. 

“But . . . you’re dressed like her.” Webby stared at the bird, a mix of confusion and disappointment, and slowly lowered the flashlight to rest at the bird’s sneakers. “But -”

Suddenly it hit Webby. It hit her in full force and she stumbled back from the realization, her eyes wide - this wasn’t Lena, because Lena had been  _ swapped. _

Lena wasn’t even Lena. She was swapped with this other random bird, and Webby had absolutely no idea where Lena was.

“Look - uh, Pink,” the bird said, glancing at Webby’s outfit, “I’m not Lena. Last time I checked my name’s  _ Violet.” _

The nickname  _ Pink _ pulled at Webby’s heart. She glanced at the ground. “Don’t call me that.”

“Touchy much?” Violet raised an eyebrow. “What are you doing here, anyway?” 

Webby crossed her arms, frowning. After a second she responded with, “I was trying to find Lena.”

Violet scowled, clenching her hands into fists.  _ “Who’s Lena?” _

“My friend!” Webby finally exclaimed. 

There was a pause.

Violet raised her eyebrows. “You were looking for this ‘Lena’ in an abandoned stage?”

“Amphitheater,” Webby corrected.

Violet stared at her.

“This is an amphitheater,” Webby explained. “The big marble pillars and the stage and the . . . nevermind. I was looking for Lena here because she lives here.” She paused. “Well . . . she used to. I - I dunno, it’s - complicated.”

Violet crossed her arms as well. “ ‘Complicated’ fits you more than ‘Pink’ does.” 

“Look, it’s just that she was my best friend, and I thought she could help me get back home -” There she went again, rambling to complete and random strangers about anything and everything. But before she could stop herself, it all came tumbling out. Being stuck in an alternate universe was  _ stressful. _ “- and everything here is strange and weird and I just want to go home.”

“So . . . you’re lost?”

In a way, at least.

Webby sighed, and plopped down on the floor. “I dunno,” she said again. “Sorta. Kinda. It’s complicated.”

“Seems like it.” Violet stayed standing, her arms still folded. “So you’re  _ not _ lost.”

“I  _ am _ lost.”

“From where?” 

Webby was silent. Finally she drew her knees up to her chest and hugged them.

“This is gonna sound weird,” she started. “Like, really weird.” She sighed. “You’re gonna think I sound crazy.”

Violet raised an eyebrow, curious. “Crazy?” 

Webby hesitated. “Well, um, I’m . . . not really . . . from this universe?”

_ What are you DOING?  _ she yelled at herself.  _ Of course she’s gonna think you’re crazy! _

Violet let out an incredulous snort. “I’m calling you ‘Crazy’ now.”

Silence hung in the air for a bit. After a few seconds, Webby dared to glance up - Violet was still smirking, but then her smile fell as soon as it had appeared. “You’re  _ not _ crazy?” 

Webby shook her head.

Violet sat down right next to Webby, stretching her legs out in front of her. “You’re from a different universe?”

“Yeah,” Webby admitted. She exhaled. “It feels nice to tell someone.”

“How’d you get here?”

“I don’t know.” Webby shook her head mournfully, staring at her wrist. Her wrist, bare and empty of any friendship bracelet, because she hadn’t met Lena in this universe. “That’s why I was trying to find Lena, because I thought - I thought she could help me get back home.”

“Home as in your universe?” Violet shifted her weight a bit. “What’s  _ your _ universe like, Crazy?”

Webby thought for a minute.

“Different,” she said. “My family’s all broken up here, and in there they’ve already made up. I’ve been trying to think of ways to get back for days.” She bit her lip. “But I don’t know how.”

“Where am I there?”

Webby shrugged. “I dunno, I haven’t met you yet. I think you’re like Lena here . . . wherever she is -”

She trailed off, her eyes widening. 

“Oh,” she whispered, and then she shouted it.  _ “Oh!” _

Violet leaned back. “Oh what?” she asked, sounding like a mix between amused and startled.

Webby jumped to her feet, ecstatic. “If you’re like Lena in this universe, maybe you’re supposed to  _ help _ me get back!” She grinned. “We’re  _ supposed _ to be friends here! Ahh! Oh, man, I gotta find the friendship bracelet yarn, no  _ wonder _ I don’t have my -”

“Friendship bracelet?” Violet interrupted, getting to her feet. “Slow down, Crazy -”

Webby didn’t listen and grabbed Violet’s wrists. “Where should we start?” she asked excitedly. “The archives? No, we’ll need one of the triplets - oh! The library! Yeah, we’ll start there!”

Violet jerked her hands from Webby’s grasp. “I don’t even know you! I’m not going to -”

“Where are my  _ manners? _ Hi, Violet, I’m Webby!” Webby shook Violet’s hand, beaming. “If you’re calling me Crazy, can I call you Vi? Or Vi-Vi? Or different shades of purple!”

_ “No,” _ Violet said firmly.

“Too late, Lavender.” Webby slid her backpack off and dug around in it, pulling out a pencil and a notepad. Quickly she found that she didn’t have enough light to write, so she threw them back into her backpack and faced Violet again. “Plan B! We’ll make our plans at the library!”

_ “Listen, _ Crazy!” Violet snapped. “I just met you and you want to make friendship bracelets? We’re not even friends and you want me to help you get back to your universe! How do I know you’re telling the truth or - you’re just really good at acting?”

Webby dropped her backpack and took hold of Violet’s shoulders, staring her in the eyes. “Lilac. I’m terrible at lying.”

Violet still looked unconvinced. 

_ “Trust _ me. I’m gonna have to lie in front of you at some point and I sure  _ hope  _ you have something better than I will.”

“That’s comforting,” Violet said flatly.

There was a beat of silence. 

Webby looked at Violet hopefully.

“Alright then, Crazy.” Violet folded her arms. “Prove you can’t lie.”

“You wanna know the real reason I’m getting back to my own universe?” Webby prompted.

Violet raised an eyebrow.

Webby made a show of looking around, leaned closer to Violet, and put a hand beside her beak. “I’m definitely not trying to take over the world with, uh, dolphins that can . . . only be taken from here,” she stage-whispered.

There was a full minute of silence this time.

“Point  _ proven.” _ Violet shook her head in disbelief. “That was  _ terrible _ . _ Dolphins?” _

“Glomgold uses sharks,” Webby pointed out helpfully.

“Sorry, who?”

“Second-richest duck in the world. Kinda mad about it.” Webby faced Violet, beaming and bouncing excitedly. “So! Library tomorrow?” 

Violet straightened, her arms folded, and Webby thought she caught the slightest hint of a smile beneath that gloomy appearance. “You’re still set on going to the library? I heard there’s a -”

“Beagle Boy birthday party at the junkyard?” Webby jumped from flipper to flipper. “Nah, I’ll pass. I’m sure we’ll use British accents at some point, though.”

Violet’s jaw dropped. “How did you -”

“My universe! Lena and I bonded over Britannica and Englabeth,” Webby recalled. She grinned at the memory of it. “Man, that was fun. So library! Tomorrow at . . . ten! Yeah! Are you free at ten?”

“I mean . . .” Violet blinked in confusion. “Yeah, but -”

“Perfect! Tomorrow at ten!” Webby finally stopped bouncing and gripped her backpack straps tightly, beaming. “I should probably get going - don’t want to be out too late. It’s probably almost nine already.” 

“You’re not . . .” Violet hesitated.  _ “Psychic, _ are you?”

Webby burst out laughing -  _ that  _ was a new one. “Of course not!” she giggled. “I’ve just already been through this part of my universe before. It’s complicated, you know.” Before Violet could give it another thought, Webby gave her a quick hug and then started to head out of the amphitheater. “See you tomorrow, Heliotrope!”

Violet stared at her in confusion. 

“Oh, c’mon, it’s a shade of purple! You call me Crazy, I’m calling you shades of purple!” Webby turned around and gave Violet an excited wave. “Bye!”

And with that, Webby disappeared into the streets of Duckburg, a new bounce in her step where it hadn’t been before.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's important to know that, in the canon timeline, Webby has not yet met Violet :P


	8. Shades of Violet (Part 2)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Webby and Violet meet up at the library and find a couple interesting books on alternate universes.

Webby got home that night to find her granny and Launchpad surprisingly getting along . . . by watching an old TV show in one of the living rooms. Webby hadn’t noticed it right away, of course, but after she excitedly told her granny about meeting Violet and their library hang-out tomorrow, she suddenly  _ did _ realize what they were watching. 

(Asking Mrs. B and Launchpad had definitely helped, too.)

It was that old show the Launchpad in her universe occasionally watched - and the one he’d talked to her about several times. Without thinking it Webby accidentally realized - out loud - that she could  _ definitely _ remember Launchpad telling her about it.

And after  _ that _ slip-up, she zoomed off to her room with an entirely new quest from earlier that morning.

Her quest now was to make friendship bracelets for her and Violet. She settled on blue and green and dark purple for Violet’s, and she was halfway through making it when she realized that these were the exact same colors for Lena. Just . . . slightly arranged differently. 

Huh. She hadn’t meant to do that, but it made her happy.

The next morning she bounced brightly into the kitchen and reminded Launchpad she’d be gone for a couple hours. Launchpad responded with “I haven’t forgotten, Webby,” and then slid her a plate with breakfast - toast and butter and jam.

“Thanks,” Webby replied brightly, and started munching on her breakfast. 

Launchpad was silent for a moment, eyeing the duckling as she quickly finished her toast. “Webby,” he finally began, after a few seconds of silence, “did you find your friend?”

Webby glanced up, surprised - Launchpad  _ remembered _ she had said something about that? What had she said? 

_ More like - more like  _ try  _ to find her. Because I don’t know if I can. _

“Oh,” was all she said at first. Then she went on. “Well, no. Not . . . exactly.”

Not exactly. That was a good-enough answer for all the complicated stuff that had happened lately. 

Launchpad just nodded and whisked her now-empty plate away, and he didn’t say anything else. Curious, Webby lingered for a moment . . . and then she left the kitchen. 

~

Ten o’clock found Webby bouncing up the steps of the library, her freshly-made friendship bracelets safely stored in her backpack. She caught Violet hanging around the doors, her arms folded and leaning against one of the walls. 

“Violet!” Webby greeting, stopping before her new friend. “Hello! Are you ready?” 

“Sure,” Violet said, shrugging. “I don’t have a library card, though.”

“We can use mine. C’mon!”

The two headed into the library, entering under Webby’s name, and went straight over to a section in the back. This, Webby explained, was the supernatural reference section - any serious books on the supernatural were most likely there. And alternate universes  _ definitely _ counted as supernatural, so that was where to start.

They stopped at the librarian’s desk, and Webby leaned over the desk, smiling at the librarian. “Hi, I’m Webby!” 

“Hello,” the librarian on duty answered, amused. “Do you need any help?”

“Nah, we’re just doing some causal research on alternate universes.” Webby gripped her backpack straps tightly and beamed. “Definitely not trying to get back to my own universe or anything.”

The librarian blinked.

“You really can’t lie,” Violet muttered under her breath, taking hold of Webby’s shoulders and starting to steer her away. “People are going to think you’re crazy.”

“You do,” Webby chirped. 

Violet rolled her eyes. “Besides the point. Where first?” 

~

They searched the supernatural reference section isles for almost an hour, coming up nearly empty-handed with only a few books on alternate universes. Webby and Violet chose an empty table near the back and dumped all their books onto the table; Webby sat down and reached for a book immediately. 

Violet sat down next to Webby, resting her head in her hand. “You’re still serious about this?”

“Of course.” Webby flipped through the first chapter; nothing. “This universe makes my head hurt sometimes, Plum, seriously - I mean, my granny’s terrible at driving now. She’s so lenient on stuff I’ve gotta remember to ask Launchpad.”

“Launchpad,” Violet said slowly. “You’d think  _ he’d _ fly planes or something with a name like that.”

“He does,” Webby responded. After a second, she added, “Well, in my universe, anyway.” with a sudden frown, she closed the book and pushed it aside. “I can’t find anything.”

Violet took Webby’s discarded book and opened it to the table of contents. Webby, in the meanwhile, took the next book and started skimming the pages. But oh, how alternate universes seemed  _ fascinating. _ Webby was soon caught up in the history of something called the “Negaverse”, tiny little sub-universes attached to each separate universe. They were the complete opposite of every universe - and it was exhilarating. Superheroes were supervillains, supervillains were superheroes. Happy go-lucky personalities were twisted into sarcastic down-on-life personalities. It was a wonder that Violet actually managed to shake Webby out of her reading trance to tell her that she’d found something that Webby had missed.

“Huh?” Webby glanced up, momentarily dizzy from pausing her reading so quickly.

Violet turned the book around and pushed it towards Webby. “You missed something,” she repeated. “If you’re interested.”

“I  _ am. _ Here, read this, it’s something about universes where everything’s the complete opposite.” 

Webby handed Violet her book (which Violet reluctantly took and started reading with a bored expression), and she leaned forward a bit, reading what Violet had found. 

Her eyes widened. 

_ CHAPTER FIVE: Portals Into Different Universes _

This was it! Portals into alternate universes! Webby slid the book closer towards her, ecstatic. There was a universe that had something to do with eclipses and there had to specifically be a solar eclipse to get into that one . . . yet another that referenced that TV show her granny and Launchpad were watching the other night; a mirror was needed for  _ that _ portal . . . aha! Webby lit up - something about the Prime universe. She was pretty sure that was hers.

_ The Prime Universe may be the trickiest of all to get into, however the creator of the portal needs only one thing. So goes the riddle: “Prized possession one may seek, from a person they love that longs to keep.”  _

Webby sat back, heart thumping and eyes wide. “Prized possession one may seek,” she mumbled, “from a person they love that longs to keep . . .”

“Find what I was talking about?” Violet said, glancing at Webby with a still-bored demeanor. 

“Yes,” Webby said firmly. “I need to find a prized possession of someone I love, but - oh, hang on, it says something about how this possession needs to have magic and - OH!”

Violet jumped, startled from Webby’s sudden outburst. “Shush!” she hissed. “Don’t get us kicked out of the -”

“Scrooge’s number one dime!” Webby whispered excitedly.

Violet froze.

“Scrooge’s - well, Mr. McDuck’s number one dime,” Webby repeated, growing more and more sure of herself. “That’s it, Vi!” She squealed. “I know how to get back to my universe!”

“Did -” Violet stared at Webby curiously. “Scrooge’s . . . number one dime - you know Scrooge McDuck?”

“Yeah, I live with him!”

“You live in a  _ mansion?” _

“It’s Scrooge’s most prized possession. The dime, I mean. And I’m pretty sure he trapped Magica De Spell - you know, famous evil sorceress - in there. It has magic, it’s Scrooge’s prized possession, I  _ love _ Scrooge, and -”

She broke off.

There was a beat of silence. Finally Violet sat up straight, suddenly interested. “I changed my mind, Crazy,” she said nonchalantly. “I’ll help you find the -”

But Webby shook her head.

Violet frowned, growing irritated. “What does that mean?”

“I can’t,” Webby managed bitterly, staring at her hands. “I - I don’t know how to get it -”

“So? We can think of a plan!”

“Yeah, but -” Webby hesitated. That wasn’t it. It wasn’t her only concern. “Scrooge . . . Scrooge used to like me.” Her voice dropped to a whisper. “He doesn’t anymore.”

“Okay, so that might actually make things easier, in my -”

“And the triplets don’t know him,” Webby went on, ignoring a stunned Violet. “And Della doesn’t talk to him and Dewey doesn’t know Launchpad and they’re not living in the mansion and  _ oh my macaroni and CHEESE!” _ she burst out, slamming a hand on the table (and attracting the stares of several people around her and Violet). 

_ “Shhh!” _ Violet scowled. “What in -”

“I’ve gotta fix it!” Webby exclaimed. She grabbed Violet’s shoulders, startling the poor bird, and stared at her with wide, excited eyes. “Vi-Vi! I need to fix them - I gotta bring my family back. I can’t leave them here broken up, okay?” She released Violet’s shoulders, and her smile slid off. “They - they need to be a happy family again.” 

_ “What?” _ Violet’s mouth fell open. “You care about your dumb family? Just get back to your family in your other universe where they’re  _ not _ broken up!”

“But they’re not okay here!” Webby faced Violet, beginning to feel desperate. She tugged at her shirt sleeve anxiously. “No one’s talking to each other - my granny and Launchpad just became friends  _ last night!” _

With a shaky breath, she stood up. Violet’s eyes followed her with disbelief, but Webby didn’t pay attention to her.

“I’m sorry,” she said finally. “I’ve got - I’ve got to get my family back together first.” 

Violet slid into her seat, crossing her arms. “Unbelievable,” she muttered. 

“Don’t worry,” Webby said, after a few seconds. “We can still be friends and hang out. But I really need to get my family back together, okay? Here.”

She slid off her backpack, arousing the curiosity of Violet, and she dug around in her backpack for a moment or two. With an “aha!” Webby removed her arm from her bag - in her grasp, she held two bracelets. 

Violet raised an eyebrow. “. . . what’s that?”

Webby smiled, and she gave the purple-blue-green one to Violet. “It’s a friendship bracelet, silly,” Webby said brightly. She slid her new pink bracelet onto her own wrist, and then slid Violet’s bracelet onto  _ her _ wrist. “Lena and I had them, so I figured we should, too.” 

Violet shrugged her shirt sleeve to cover her bracelet. “Yeah, okay. Thanks, I guess.” 

Webby beamed. 

Before she turned around to leave, she added, “Oh, you can come visit me anytime! I live at - well, you know.” With a shrug, she really did turn around. “Scrooge McDuck. In his mansion.” 

Violet didn’t answer. Webby gave her a quick wave and a bright smile. 

As Webby stepped out into the sunlight, she inhaled deeply. She couldn’t believe how blind she’d been before. She’d been so concerned about getting back to her own universe that she hadn’t really thought of actually fixing her family  _ here. _

And they needed it.

An idea sparked in her mind. Oh -  _ oh! _ If the triplets hadn’t met Scrooge, then . . .  _ the gold dragon was still in the garage! _ She could - she could find a way to arrange for the triplets to meet Scrooge! And stay at the mansion! 

With a bounce to her step, she continued her way back to the mansion.

~

Violet slipped out of the library, unnoticed, almost as if she was a shadow. 

She glanced at the friendship bracelet around her wrist and, after a second, shrugged her shirt sleeve over it.  _ She _ wouldn’t notice, and it was best to let Webby at least think they were friends.

She didn’t stop walking until she arrived at the amphitheater. The sun was directly above her head as the nearby town clock chimed the arrival of noon. Not enough shadows, and yet . . . just enough.

Violet pulled out a necklace from under her shirt. It was a pretty necklace - a big, swirling, purple amulet hanging off of a black chain, mostly hidden under her shirt whenever she was in sight of people. She cupped it in the palms of her hands, staring at it willingly. 

_ “Summon spirit from the dark.” _

A breeze circled the amphitheater, whipping Violet’s bangs about.

_ “Show thyself before this arc.” _

Her amulet started glowing, illuminating her face and beak and clothes. Violet didn’t flinch against the bright purple light.

_ “Free thy dread soul from its prison.” _

Loose papers, once neatly stacked by the edge of the theater, rose and followed wherever the breeze took it. They circled Violet in a tornado-like-way, twisting and turning and creating a small cyclone around her.

_ “Once more shall she be risen!” _

The wind was stronger now. Violet’s shadow loomed in front of her, and it started to slowly . . . surely . . . morph into a figure much different than Violet’s. Slim waist, curved hips, short hair that flared out at the end. Much taller than Violet was. Completely shadow with glowing red eyes. 

Violet cleared her throat and looked at her new shadow pointedly. “Aunt Magica?” 

The shadow cocked its head.

Violet found herself smirking. She’d done it. She was closer than ever to her goal.

“I’m in.”


End file.
